


Peripeteia

by Sylvia



Category: From Eroica with Love
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-06
Updated: 1999-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-05 11:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvia/pseuds/Sylvia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Klaus attends a cousin's wedding at Schloss Eberbach. So does Dorian, for very different reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peripeteia

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 日本語 available: [日本語訳：Peripeteia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/712471) by [BasilLeaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasilLeaves/pseuds/BasilLeaves)



> Tyrian, Dorian, Klaus, his father and butler and all other Eroica-related things are sole property of Yasuko Aoike. What I have done to them is no fault of hers. The other characters don't exist, either, and while the town of Eberbach does, I have felt free to rearrange it and dabble in its history.
> 
> My thanks go to my beta readers, Theresa, Ruth S., Masae and Lisa, who encouraged me, helped me with Eroica details, and made this story much better than it was.
> 
> Peripeteia: sudden change of fortunes; in drama, the climax and turning point of a tragedy, leading into the catastrophe; also used for other narrative forms

The dark silhouette of the Eberbach family seat rose majestically against the muted fire of sundown reflected on clouds. The castle was relatively young; the original Eberbach seat, built in the 11th century, had been razed to the ground in the 16th century when the infamous Tyrian Persimmon had shouldered his way into the bloodline. Reportedly, Tyrian's new relations had not been at all sorry to see the last of him when he'd been simultaneously stabbed and blown up with his ship before construction of the new castle had even begun.

Since Tyrian had had the bad taste to let his treasure sink together with what remained of his person and ship, the Eberbachs had fallen back on tried and true methods, doing their best to extort, rob, confiscate and otherwise acquire the funds to restore them to their former influence and glory. This process had taken well over two centuries; in the end, it had been the courtier and fop Walter von dem Eberbach, regarded as an unfortunate embarrassment by most of his contemporary relatives, who'd succeeded both in this and in building a suitably ostentatious castle. He believed in living in style, and that he had been forced to wed the daughter of a merchant to achieve his goal hadn't bothered him; he solved the problem of social embarrassment by not letting his wife into public at all, and the line had - by such glorious means - been carried on in fitting pomp.

Before and since, the line had produced many illustrious offshoots that had been known variously as plunderers and pillagers, ruthless criminals, brutal tyrants, violently unprincipled hedonists, and even daring heroes… sometimes as all of these things at once. Today, having weathered the victories and defeats of several more centuries, the family was once again expanding - growing, and presumably strengthening.

The youngest offshoot of the main branch of the exceedingly tenacious line sat in his car in the driveway and stared at the invitingly illuminated windows of the castle's main wing, built by the unusually sedate, if hedonistic and unprincipled Walter and financed by Elisabetha "Lisel" von dem Eberbach's father, successful spice merchant Jupp Mueller.

This particular Eberbach was not a criminal, but he had lied, betrayed, stolen and killed and would likely do so again with equal lack of remorse. He was not unprincipled, but ruthlessness and brutality were traits he could not in good conscience disown; he kept them well-shackled and serving his sense of duty and justice, but there were times when he imagined he felt them straining at the stern bonds his will imposed on them, recalling the ages past when they had raged unchecked through blood of his blood, though flowing in other veins.

He'd lost track of how long he'd been sitting there, disconnected family facts flitting aimlessly through his mind. The sun had dipped behind the eastern tower some time before. Klaus was fairly certain it had been dusk when he arrived on the castle grounds.

He had a splitting headache. A triple agent of uncertain provenance who'd been working for no one but himself at the time had smashed his head hard against a very solid brick wall a couple of days ago, but Klaus didn't attempt to make himself believe that this was the reason.

Weddings. Klaus loathed weddings.

A car was coming up the driveway behind him. He'd heard the gate open a minute ago, but hadn't really paid attention. The realisation that he was neglecting to pay an appropriate amount of attention to his surroundings shook him from his unproductive brooding, and he quickly stubbed out his latest cigarette, got out of the car and was already striding towards the entrance with his suitcase in hand by the time the latest arrival pulled up behind him.

Klaus didn't turn around. He didn't care who it was and he didn't want to acknowledge their presence. If he did, he would have to greet them.

The butler opened the door just as Klaus set foot on the last step up to the portal, looking as staid and impassive as always. Klaus wondered how long the old man had been watching him from the pantry window.

"Sir," the butler intoned sombrely. "It is good to have both you and the Baron here again. Your father will be pleased to see you."

Klaus chose not to respond to the obvious lie. It was better to start this ordeal out on some kind of good foot.

"Hmm," he said instead in an only vaguely grumpy tone.

A young girl he didn't recognise edged past the butler respectfully and took the suitcase from Klaus. After a brief tug at his briefcase and a muted growl on his part, she retreated hastily. Klaus automatically noted that she was approximately sixteen or seventeen years old, one point six seven meters in height, a bit on the plump side but not remarkably so, her hair dyed dark red but mousy brown by nature. Her eyes were grey and she wore untinted contact lenses. Her nose was small and extremely tip-tilted and would be very hard to disguise.

The unidentified girl - presumably a schoolgirl hired as temporary help - quailed beneath the butler's rebuking stare, though she was evidently still uncertain what her error had been. Apparently she didn't distinguish between luggage in general and briefcases in particular.

Klaus relented and tossed his briefcase into her arms, causing her to all but drop the suitcase and squeal a little in surprise. Klaus pushed past her and the astonished-looking butler, shrugging out of his coat and handing it to the latter as he passed.

There was nothing in his briefcase except empty paper, several pencils sharpened to the point where they could be used as offensive weapons, and a supply of cigarettes. Klaus wasn't about to bring secret documents into a castle filled with relatives, servants and assorted other rabble. There would be plenty of other things to worry about.

Such as the person waiting for him inside.

"I see you are still wearing your hair in that slovenly and unaesthetic manner," Baron Theodor Walter von dem Eberbach said from across the hall. His voice was quiet, but cut through the distance between the door and the foot of the stairs effortlessly. It was the same tone he used with everyone except his closest friends - an unmistakably commanding tone, precise and cool, resonant with the steely certainty that he would be obeyed.

Klaus could feel his nostrils flaring and his upper lip beginning to curl into a snarl. The strength of his instinctive reaction took him by surprise and he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, clamping down on the unreasonable surge of defiant anger. *He has the right to command you,* he recited to himself. *He is your father and the head of the house, and you will not defy him. Not more than is absolutely necessary.*

"That is because I still see no reason to change it," he said once he had his temper back under control.

The present Baron and head of the Eberbach family slowly walked across the crest inlaid in the parquet floor, every movement suffused with dignity and breeding. His hair was completely white, the colour of frost in the first ray of morning light; as always, he was impeccably groomed and looked both distinguished and at ease in one of his tastefully expensive designer tuxedos. Klaus hadn't seen him wearing anything else in quite a while, and somehow, it had always seemed to be the most natural attire for his father outside of a uniform.

For a brief, incredulous moment after the Baron stopped in front of him, Klaus thought his father would hold out a hand or maybe even give him a clap on the shoulder. To discourage such an action, however unlikely, Klaus stood up straight and clasped his hands together behind his back in a stance just short of being at parade-rest.

His father took a long moment to inspect him from head to toe, lips compressed in vague disapproval. Klaus didn't know what had prompted the disapproval this time, but he had decided a very long time ago that he would stop being unsettled by the uncertainty. He supposed that there had been too many definite reasons that had at some point melded into a perpetual, if subtle state; inappropriate behaviour, the occasional less than excellent grade, another boy or his parents complaining of an attack - an attack that had, in the official version, inevitably been completely without provocation - a broken window or even, that one time, a kitten not hidden from discovery quite as well as Klaus had hoped... Yes, there had been more than enough definite reasons.

By now, the point at which he'd stopped trying to explain or change his father's habitual censure lay so far back that he hardly remembered what cringing beneath the cold stare of Eberbach senior had felt like. It was not in Klaus' nature to cringe, and he had never done it well. It had probably been the one redeeming quality his father had found in him back then.

"Most of the guests arrived yesterday or this morning," his father said at last. "I have received numerous inquiries as to your whereabouts."

"I am certain everyone understood that international politics seldom wait for the convenience of family festivities," Klaus replied just as coolly and evenly.

"Anton is younger than you, you know."

The command tone had now hardened into open rebuke and Klaus stood ramrod-straight, trying not to lift his chin too high for the stance. No more defiance than absolutely necessary.

"I am aware of that," he said icily. Perhaps he should have kept completely silent, but that could have been interpreted as a statement, as well.

"I have assured the Countess von Thurnis that you will be happy to show her daughters around Eberbach tomorrow."

Klaus tried not to grimace. He'd intimidated the Thurnis girls out of what little wits they possessed the first time he'd been thrown together with them, but they were even more frightened of their mother and dared not resist her relentless matchmaking attempts. Klaus had tried to intimidate the mother, but had failed dismally. Equipped with a bullet-proof designer suit and reduplicated several hundred times, the woman would have made an unstoppable secret weapon. The Soviets would have been married off and cowed or fleeing to hide away in Siberia within a year.

"Yes, sir," Klaus gritted.

"Now for heaven's sake go change into something appropriate. You are late enough as it is."

Klaus nodded smartly and waited for his father to step aside before proceeding straight to the stairs, marching up the curving staircase and down the corridor to his room with the same steady, measured tread he had always used in these halls. Slower than a run - because running was not appropriate - and quicker than a regular walk - because dawdling was not allowed.

He desperately wished for a pressing international crisis to arise and call him away.

*Courage,* the old, familiar inner voice whispered to him, calling up walls of ice and iron to hide behind, conjuring forth strength from the bitter joy of defiance. *When the battle is upon you, fight to the death and admit no defeat.*

***

Weddings! Dorian loved weddings. Everyone got out their very showiest jewels and didn't worry about the emeralds clashing with the rubies, because for an occasion like this one, cousin Ethel would be turning up in her diamond tiara, and they really couldn't let her think she had somehow managed to put one over on them, now could they?

Such determined cheer and ostentation! Such delightful indulgence in champagne… And such large and only partially familiar crowds of relatives close and remote, friends old and new, colleagues, neighbours, acquaintances, thieves…

Lovely. Perfectly lovely.

Especially when the marriage in question was that of one Anna Juliane zu Herforthsweiler and one Anton Waldkirch von dem Eberbach, a cousin to the mouth-wateringly lovely and frustratingly elusive Major of similar name. *Especially* when the marriage in question was being celebrated in the family seat of the Eberbachs, which also held "The Man in Purple", the quite valuable portrait of Tyrian, ancestor of the Eberbachs, who incidentally happened to bear an astounding likeness to his choleric but delectable descendant.

And most especially when, in order to be able to entertain such an impressive number of guests in style, an almost as impressive number of additional servants had been engaged for the occasion.

Really, when presented with such an opportunity, it would practically be a crime not to take it up. It had been child's play for Dorian to secure a temporary job as waiter and general factotum, in spite of the minor impediment that his command of German was still somewhat less than complete. What did that matter, however, when he was not only amazingly handsome but also equipped with a multitude of talents, something which even the crusty old Eberbach butler - though happily unaware of be-wigged and disguised Dorian's true identity - had been able to see at first glance?

Though the butler very likely hadn't counted upon the particularly honed set of talents which had allowed Dorian to pass through a number of locked doors on his way to the gallery displaying the pictures of the Eberbach ancestors…

And there he was. "The Man in Purple", larger than life and almost as beautiful as the Major in the flesh.

Dorian took a careful look at the grain of the painting to ensure himself he wasn't about to go to this much trouble for a cheap copy. No, it was the real thing - apparently the Eberbachs didn't hold with hanging fakes on the walls while keeping the originals in bank safes, which was a practice Dorian himself deplored deeply for obvious reasons.

The frame was hooked up to an alarm system which was, in its turn, connected to the main unit down in the cellar. Dorian had already had a look at this while he was on an errand to fetch a selection of wines - the cellars were a labyrinth of narrow corridors, claustrophobic cubicles and echoing caverns, and no one had been surprised it had taken him a bit longer than it might have to find his way back with the Riesling and Burgundy he'd been sent for.

The alarm system wouldn't give him too much trouble, and he'd already arranged for a catering truck manned with his staff to arrive at an appropriate time to spirit the successfully filched painting off the estate. He had several hours left… The perfect opportunity to wander around Klaus' ancestral home, imagine what it had been like to grow up here, and maybe catch a glimpse or two of the man himself as he scowled at the guests and did his best to make certain no one forgot themselves so far as to actually enjoy the party.

Really, the man was a terrible grouch… If only he hadn't been so absolutely irresistible at the same time.

Dorian hadn't chosen to fall in love with Major Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach of NATO, and if he had had even an idea of the amount of longing and pain the man would cause him over the years, he might have chosen to simply concede victory to the other man and run when he'd first clashed swords with him. On the other hand - to be entirely truthful, he probably wouldn't have been able to resist taking a closer look at someone so alluring that somehow, the sheer power of attraction completely eclipsed every other consideration.

The man was obnoxious, rude, brutal, and in every way impossible. His subordinates were scared to death of him. He insulted and even physically assaulted Dorian at every turn, repulsed his advances, called him names and expressed his contempt and disgust. And Dorian kept coming back for more.

Why? Well… For one thing, the Major was the embodiment of perfect male beauty. His every move was at once a joy and torture to watch… such smooth, muscular grace and unconscious, natural elegance... But that wasn't all - there was still something more. What was it?

As he made his way back down to the kitchen to fulfil his waiter duties for another two hours or so, Dorian pondered this question at length. He'd done so often before, but had never come to an entirely satisfactory conclusion.

For one thing, he was capable and efficient, but not dry and boring as such men usually were. Fearless, daring, brave - so focussed, so intense, so utterly determined… Once you had won someone like the Major, they would be yours forever, body and soul. It was strange, but the Major was the first and only man with whom Dorian could imagine entering a relationship with any level of commitment. There was no choice in the Major's case - this kind of man knew no compromises. Besides, Dorian could not imagine ever having enough of him, or even wanting to stray while he had this man in his bed.

Dorian was not so shallow as to attach undue importance to the merely sexual aspect of a relationship with his reluctant love, of course. It went without saying.

With that fact clearly established, Dorian allowed himself to expand on the topic a bit in the privacy of his own mind. His mouth went dry just contemplating what someone like the Major would be like in bed. All that determination and perfectionism, all the explosive energy, the unswerving focus - all of that turned to the purpose of driving Dorian insane with desire… He'd be hesitant at first, perhaps even a bit awkward, embarrassed at his own inexperience, shy… But Dorian would be only too glad to teach him how to touch and taste and -

"Hey, you, Faulpelz! Where the hell have you been? Here, take that to the reception in the front parlour, and come straight back here when those are gone! Don't forget the empty glasses, either."

A gigantic tray of filled champagne flutes was thrust into his arms, rudely dispersing his fantasy of his beautiful love's steep learning curve. What did *Faulpelz* mean? His German lessons had managed to skirt all of the truly useful terms. Most frustrating. On second thought, maybe it was just as well.

After a moment of panicked balancing and a dirty look at the back of the Eberbach employee now hurrying off to hassle other hapless waiters, Dorian sniffed and took himself and the horribly unwieldy and heavy tray off to the front parlour. Unlike most of the other temporary help, Dorian had no trouble at all in orienting himself in the castle. He'd memorised a floor plan of the place beforehand.

No, he said to himself again, he was not shallow enough to desire Klaus von dem Eberbach merely for his body, as lovely as that was. Even though it was one of the most desirable bodies he'd ever set eyes on… He sometimes had trouble preventing himself from simply jumping the man and dragging his clothes off in order to look at him, touch him, lick him all over… He'd tried a couple of times, but with complete and lamentable lack of success so far, especially as regarded the licking part. The man defended his virtue more priggishly than any girl, and with far more radical methods. It was awfully frustrating.

It was undeniable that Dorian was badly in lust, but it was more than that. Sometimes, most often when the Major thought no one was paying attention, when he wasn't paying attention himself, there was a spark of something in those usually so steely green eyes that tore at Dorian and made him hope and long with renewed fervour… Dorian knew how ridiculous it would seem to most people to think of Klaus, the human tank, in those terms, but he knew his man. His Major was lonely, unhappy, helpless and in dire need of love.

Dorian knew that he could soothe his Major's loneliness. He could make him happy and content - he could supply everything the other man lacked in his life. All that he wanted in return was to be able to partake of the man's beauty in every way imaginable, a far more than reasonable exchange considering that he meant to make quite sure that the Major would enjoy every second. If only that stubborn SOB would open his amazingly lovely eyes and really *look* at Dorian and see what he had to offer!

In the beginning, Dorian had been confident that it would not be long before the Major gave in to his advances. After all, nobody resisted Dorian - he'd set his sights on men proclaiming they were straight before, and he hadn't paid their assertions the slightest mind. They'd ended up in his bed in short order, and they'd been quite happy to be there, too.

That had been before he'd truly gotten to know Iron Klaus, who had shown appalling stalwartness in continuing not to fall into Dorian's eager arms. He seemed to possess no sex drive of any kind.

The shocking notion made Dorian shudder inwardly. What a terrible thought. What a horrible waste!

He kept an eye out for his love as he made his way through the large room, filled with formally and expensively dressed people glittering with jewels. Several pieces caught his professional interest as he passed in his task to offer champagne to the wedding guests, but none was so spectacular that it distracted him from his primary goal. "The Man in Purple" was too important to risk over that portly dowager's diamond-and-pearl choker or the bride's rather pretty set of emeralds.

Although… Dorian took a surreptitious closer look at the emerald earrings and was impressed. Very large and clear stones in an unusually intensive grass-green colour. Well-cut, too. Maybe some other time.

"Klaus!" the bride said loudly, directly into Dorian's ear. Dorian almost dropped his tray; he'd only just recovered when the man who had just entered the room turned, his chin coming up and setting into granite hardness.

The Major made his way through the milling people, ploughing ahead with an only passing attempt to pretend to social graces. He was wearing a tuxedo and looked…

Dear heavens.

The champagne almost slipped from Dorian's grasp again as he turned away hastily to stare at someone - anyone - else. If he looked at the Major for just one moment longer, he would be forced to ravish him in front of everyone, and then the love of his life would no doubt be very angry with him. Oh *God*. Who'd have thought that it was possible for the man to turn up the sex appeal to this degree - and without even undressing?

"Anna," his love's smooth dark voice acknowledged the happy bride rather stiffly. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, Klaus. I am sure to be very happy with Anton - he is a wonderful man. I don't think we would have suited very well, do you?"

What!

"You are too good for me," Klaus said, spoiling the amazingly gallant phrase by the flat tone in which he delivered it. "Anton is a lucky man. I wish you well."

Goodness. He was really making a major effort here, wasn't he?

"That is a lovely dress. You look very pretty."

Dorian hardly knew what to think. He recollected himself far enough to lift his tray a bit higher, offering it to several guests, and gathered up a number of empty glasses before shooting a glance at Anna out of the corners of his eyes. She was smiling and didn't look particularly stunned at the Major's unprecedented effort at polite gallantries.

"Excuse me."

Ah.

Dorian couldn't suppress a smirk at the hardly noticeable shadow of a taken-aback look that appeared in Anna's face briefly before it was smoothed over with the easy practice of the well-brought up. His love had turned on his heel and was stalking away without a second glance. The Major had only been trying to pack all of the necessary small talk into as little time as possible.

"Oh, rrrrr," a low female voice commented behind him.

"Yes, I agree," Anna responded in a normal speaking tone. "But that fact won't do anyone any good, I'm afraid. I should have been quicker to introduce you - still, you should steer clear, anyway. You'll only catch frostbite."

The completely irrational impulse to throttle the bitch who dared to lust after *his* Major caught Dorian by surprise and he hurried to distance himself from the newly married woman and her friend. That he found himself slowly, but surely drifting in the direction the Major had taken was pure coincidence. Truly.

His tray was almost entirely filled with empty glasses by the time he finally caught up with his chain-smoking love where he had been cornered by an elderly man with a shock of grey hair and a monotonous laugh that reminded Dorian strangely of camels, even though he was certain he had never heard a camel make any sound even remotely similar.

Without looking in his direction, the Major reached out and snagged one of the remaining full glasses, draining it in one gulp and exchanging it for a fresh one immediately. Dorian hovered a little - just in case another new glass would be required. And because from where he stood, he could see the soft fuzz at the back of his love's neck where he'd swept back his long hair a moment ago.

He fled then, before he could succumb to the all but overwhelming need to bite Major Klaus von dem Eberbach in the side of the neck and bury his nose in the enchanting fuzz.

***

Mercifully, the soup, salad and dessert options were arranged along the side of the dining hall on long buffets, but that still left the main courses and, of course, the drinks to be attended to - and refilling the buffet. And clearing away the used dishes and glasses, and bringing fresh ones…

By the time the last members of the wedding party had eaten their fill, the ones that had finished first had begun to drift back for one more little bowl of the soup, one more slice of this cake or that pie, or maybe just a spoon full of that chocolate mousse - waiter! Are you telling me there are no cocktail tomatoes left? And where is the wine I ordered ten minutes ago!

If the thieving line should ever become unfeasible for one reason or another, one profession that Dorian would not be tempted to adopt was that of waiter.

When the rushing back and forth had finally abated to the point where he would not immediately be missed, Dorian sneaked off to the gallery to take another long and covetous look at the painting that would soon be hanging in his bedchamber back in London. He was still undecided whether it would look better above the open fireplace or between the windows on the east wall, and he surely deserved a little indulgence after the ordeal he'd just gone through.

Dorian almost wished he'd lived when Tyrian had, despite the deplorable state of plumbing and the lack of other essential comforts. There were so many legends about the man - he'd been a rogue, a tyrant - wild, vindictive, power- and pleasure-seeking, impulse-driven, charismatic and completely without scruples or limits. Utterly fascinating. Not a pleasant character to know, perhaps, but irresistible when regarded from the safety of later centuries. And really, Dorian couldn't help but think he'd have gotten along famously with the man.

*Stupid,* he chided himself laughingly. *Always playing with fire, never learning from getting burned.* And Tyrian would surely have burned him, as he'd burned everyone who'd come too close or even just drawn his attention in his time… But Dorian had never been able to resist that kind of ruthless, reckless, devil-may-care gleam in someone's eyes - provided, of course, that they were set in an attractive face. And the painter had captured that look perfectly, the look Dorian had also seen on the face of -

Oh, blast it.

He'd been too absorbed in his thoughts to take a careful look at the room he was entering before slipping inside. Basic caution, a voice inside his head mocked - a voice bearing an irritating similarity to that of the Major when he was being his most coldly disdainful.

For a long, frozen moment, Dorian thought he'd blown his cover. Then, the sharp suspicion in Klaus' expression faded, leaving him looking almost indifferent, and his head and shoulders disappeared back behind the column from which they'd so suddenly sprung forth. A small cloud of cigarette smoke emerged in his stead, marking his presence.

This was not a fitting moment to stare covetously at "The Man in Purple". Neither was this a fitting moment to stare covetously at the man in purple's descendant. Still… what painting was he looking at? If it was a particularly valuable work - or even if it was just a particular favourite of the Major's - then Dorian might as well pack that one up, as well, while he was at it.

Hmm… a fairly recent work, if Dorian was any judge - which, of course, he was. A woman in a scarlet riding outfit with silver trimming, a small pillbox hat with a perky scarlet feather attached perching on an artistically coiled crown of mahogany braids. The horse occupying most of the background to the right was a gigantic, coal-black brute with wild eyes and blood-red nostrils. To the left, a stretch of countryside could be seen, complete with castle Eberbach in the distance.

The quality of the painting itself was average to moderately good. The woman was lovely in an austere kind of way, but wore a strange and somewhat unpleasant expression that seemed to be composed in equal parts of boredom, hauteur, frustration and sadness. Unless the painter had been worse than Dorian thought, the woman must have been rather difficult.

Dorian risked a peek at the Major and was relieved to find that the man wasn't looking at him. He had resumed his strangely disinterested gazing at the painting and leaned back against the pillar he'd been lurking behind, legs crossed at the ankles and looking as indolent as he ever did with his cigarette held loosely in one hand.

"Who is the lady?" he asked in his most careful German, more because he was truly curious than because he thought he'd actually get an answer.

The Major surprised him yet again. "Claudia Henriette von dem Eberbach."

"Your mother?" It slipped out before he could stop himself and he winced a little, certain that now the expected fiery rebuke would come.

"Yes," Dorian's one true love said calmly, not looking at him. "My mother."

They stared at the painting together for a while. The only thing Dorian knew about the Major's mother was that she had died when Klaus had been very young. Seeing this picture, though, he couldn't imagine that she had been an easy woman to live with. None of the Eberbachs seemed to be simple and uncomplicated. None of them seemed to know how to enjoy themselves, either.

Well, some of them would just have to learn.

Dorian tried to find some resemblance to her son in Claudia Henriette's features, but found none. Not entirely surprising, really, since he was such a ringer for his ancestor in the paternal line.

"So," the Major said after an indefinite amount of time had passed in silence. "Are you after the family silver or do you have a more ambitious target?"

Definitely a more ambitious target. *You, naked, in my bed, in my arms, screaming my name… mine at last.*

"What!" Dorian burst out in heated indignation. "I came up here because a lady asked me to see if you were feeling ill and you accuse me of being a thief! All I'm trying to do is my job!"

The Major straightened away from the pillar at last, turning to glare at Dorian in pale imitation of his usual glower. "Oh? What did this lady look like?"

Dorian described the bride's friend, but that did not seem to ease the suspicion in his love's emerald eyes. Evidently he was not being believed, in spite of his skill at fabricating from whole cloth.

Still, there was also that almost worrying passivity that amounted almost to lack of interest. Under normal circumstances, Dorian would already have found himself tossed into a dark cellar somewhere with only a couple of king-sized bruises to keep him company.

"Come with me," the Major said at last, stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray perching on the window sill next to him before brushing past Dorian to head for the door. Apparently, there was no doubt in his mind that his order would be obeyed. For some reason, Dorian had been classed so firmly in the "bothersome but harmless petty criminal" department that he didn't even hesitate to turn his back on him.

"Gladly," Dorian murmured a bit too emphatically, his gaze automatically gravitating to the lovely long legs. *Give me half a chance!*

Tuxedos were all well and good, and it was beyond doubt that Klaus attired in one was the stuff of wet dreams and would haunt Dorian's nights for countless months to come, but the things did have one very important drawback - they concealed a very appealing part of male anatomy that Dorian knew for a fact was well worth looking at in the case of this particular specimen.

They reached the door and Dorian looked up from his regretful partial inspection of his Major's legs and well-covered buttocks to meet cold, narrowed eyes that were suddenly staring at him with an all-too-familiar expression of appalled disbelief.

*Don't even think it, you blasted pervert,* Dorian recited to himself.

The Major drew in a deep breath and expelled it again slowly, creating a vaguely threatening sound halfway between a hiss and a huff, but he said nothing. He made Dorian go first when they went down the stairs, though.

***

When they reached the bottom of the servants' stairwell, Klaus was still debating the question of whether to simply kick the foiled thief out with a warning not to show his face around here in the future or whether to go to the hassle of calling the police. With a small shove at the shoulder of the felon, he directed him to the right, towards the kitchen.

He really should call the police, he told himself. There was every possibility that the man had already squirreled some things away - jewellery he'd stolen off the guests or assorted knickknacks he'd found lying around… who knew. Searching him would do no good. He would have stashed them somewhere on the premises, somewhere he or an accomplice would be able to retrieve them later.

Damn irritating thieves - always popping up to make an already bad situation worse, always complicating everything, always staring at him as though he were on the menu and they were starving…

Why did this always happen to him? What the hell was it about him that attracted this kind of twisted desire from men like -

Wait a minute.

This thief had crept into the gallery where, among many other valuable pictures, that useless and bothersome "The Man in Purple" hung. He had asked prying personal questions and had tried to brazen it out when confronted with his larcenous intentions. He had been unabashedly staring at Klaus' ass.

The face seemed broader, the features heavier, but that could be padding and skillful makeup. The short dark hair was obviously a very superior wig. The dark eyes must be tinted by contact lenses while the skin had been darkened several shades by make-up, or perhaps through careful tanning. The figure was correct - tall, slim, lithe and moderately muscular. He hadn't even attempted to pad his waist. Vanity, Klaus supposed. And the accent, although it might conceivably have passed as an Italian one, really sounded more like an English one attempting to pass as an Italian one…

"Eroica," Klaus said flatly. In front of him, the step of the Earl in disguise faltered briefly before he half turned, raising his false dark eyebrows in feigned innocence.

"What did you say?"

"I said Eroica, you bloody nuisance," Klaus snarled in English. A strange feeling unfurled in his chest and he realised that he was actually glad at this chance of clean anger. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," the infamous thief tried hopefully, a flirtatious smile appearing as if conjured forth.

"Riight. And you wanted to see some of my movable possessions, too, you damned -"

And then he lost his train of thought in mid-rant, just as he was gearing up to come out with some truly virulent insults that would wipe that artificial simper right off the thieving, conniving little pervert's face. Every one of the already assembling curses fell right out of his head, blanked out by the icy wash of shock that slammed into him at the sight of the man walking out of the library across the hall.

Lord Gloria was saying something, but Klaus shoved him aside roughly and set out across the hall, the expanse of polished wood suddenly blurring and looming strangely. There was a rushing in his ears that almost obscured his voice when he spoke again, making his own words sound impossibly distant and unfamiliar.

"You. Get out."

He'd become an old man since Klaus had seen him last. He was sturdier, though nowhere near fat, and his posture had lost part of the athletic vigour he'd always been so proud of. The lines in his face had been there before, but had buried far more deeply into his skin; the hairline had retreated. Klaus, who hadn't seen him for over ten years, found himself stupidly surprised at the fact he'd been touched and changed by something as banal as time.

He was smaller than Klaus, and somehow, this was by far the most surprising thing about the encounter.

"Get the hell out of this house. Get the hell off this property. Don't *ever* come back."

His godfather looked dismayed and held out a conciliatory hand. Klaus knocked it aside and realised that he was shaking with rage, or shock, or something else.

"Klaus, please. I came because I had hoped that now that we were both rational adults, we could finally bury this ridiculous ill feeling you have been nursing -"

"*GET OUT!*" He was shouting. Hadn't he been determined not to shout?

Robert Tobias retreated a quick, nervous step and turned hastily, addressing Klaus' father, who now stepped out of the room behind him, a thunderous expression drawing his brows together. "I told you he wouldn't want to listen to reason, Theo. He hasn't changed at all."

"Klaus!"

He saw his own hand shoot out and connect with the older man's jaw. He even felt the impact. It did not feel as though cause or effect were directly connected to him, though.

That bastard Tobias fell back hard against the wall, stumbled and almost sagged to the floor. Klaus' father hurried to catch him and pull him to his feet, his face a mask of shock and rage. "Klaus. You will *immediately* apologise and -"

"I will do *no such thing.*"

And then he was stalking across the hall and both that bastard and his father were retreating before him, and he was still shaking and shocked and too numb to truly be aware of what the hell he was doing. He didn't care, he didn't give a damn what his father was trying to say or why his face was flushing that dangerous shade of blood-red, he didn't care. All he cared about was getting that bastard out of here, out of his sight, out of his life.

The door was open. Had he opened it or had it been the butler? It didn't matter and he didn't waste time thinking about it. Tobias was stumbling down the stairs, falling to his knees at the bottom. Where was his father? But that didn't matter either, because now Tobias was hurrying across the drive, limping a little as though he'd twisted his ankle. Klaus hoped he had, Klaus hoped he'd broken it, broken his jaw too, should have done that so long ago, should have killed the bastard - killed him. For some reason he hadn't been able to do it, even though he'd wanted to, wanted it with a deep and terrible yearning that had never truly died, that still burned in him even now.

Tobias was shouting something, but Klaus couldn't hear. The man had stopped moving. He was backed up against a car and not moving and Klaus wondered why he lived still when all those years ago, Klaus had wanted to kill him. Why hadn't he? Why didn't he?

And that was the moment that Klaus realised, with an exhilarating sense of sudden, dizzying freedom, that there was still time. He hadn't been able to do it then, but things had changed and there was still time. He could do it now.

"Keys! I don't have the keys! I don't have my keys -"

*I can kill you. I hate you, and I can kill you because there is nothing, nothing, absolutely *nothing* to hold me back.*

He never felt the sting of the dart in his back, and even the blood-edged darkness reaching up to swallow him seemed strangely expected, fusing without a break into the churning rage and hate and the triumph of his own power and unconditional will to end this particular life.

"If I ever see you again, I will kill you."

And he knew he'd spoken the words out loud before the blackness dragged him down. He could tell by the expression in the bastard's eye. He was telling the truth, and Tobias knew it.

As surely as if he had locked his hands around the man's head and broken his neck, as surely as if he had choked out his life with his breath or put a bullet between his eyes or driven his nasal bone into his brain - Klaus had won.

***

Oh dear. This was not going at all according to plan. He should have been out of the castle hours ago, proud possessor of "The Man in Purple", poor substitute for the living, breathing version perhaps, but nevertheless a possession Dorian had quite looked forward to. By this time, he should have been out of the country, heading for home… leaving his Major, though not for too long.

Instead, the catering van bearing his people had come and gone, leaving Dorian still at the castle with both the picture and the Major. He'd refused to listen to anything his men had said to him on the subject of his decision to stay. He'd claimed he was only waiting for a better opportunity to snatch the picture, but he didn't think Bonham had believed him.

The truth was that he couldn't leave the Major now, not even having witnessed that appalling outburst. The Major needed him. Dorian had known this for some time, and this occurrence might conceivably be turned into an opportunity to make that stubborn German realise it, as well.

Dorian had never seen anyone go berserk before, and he'd found that it was not at all a pleasant sight - not even in the wonderful Major, whose outbursts of temper Dorian quite often enjoyed. His acquaintance with the love of his life had taught Dorian appreciation of the brand of aesthetic appeal held by the sheen of bright steel… The same appeal held by the exhilarating mixture of danger, streamlined violence and sheer physical beauty of the Major's blazing anger. He was at his most superbly, ravishingly beddable when he was in a towering rage, and usually Dorian never wanted to rip the man's clothes off more than when he was shouting at the top of his voice.

So far, of course, Dorian had not actually revealed this to his excitable love. He rather thought it would be wise to postpone that revelation until he'd actually bedded the man several times and mellowed him just a tad. Not too much. He didn't want him to change - much. Just enough to get him to stop fighting Dorian - to get him into Dorian's bed. No more.

This new and immoderate brand of rage the Major had flown into at the sight of his father's friend had not been aesthetic or attractive at all. Dorian had thought he'd seen the Major lose his temper before, but quite evidently, he'd been wrong. The Major had been about to kill that man with his bare hands. No one had come right out and said it, but only the timely intervention of the elder Eberbach and the rifle his gamekeeper used to sedate wildlife for veterinary treatment had saved Mr. Tobias's life.

There would be hell to pay once the Major woke up. The elder Eberbach seemed more than ready to commit murder himself, even if it did leave him without an heir. Saying that Dorian's one true love had disrupted the nuptial celebrations was like saying that a hand-grenade lobbed into a hotel lobby had gotten the receptionist's attention.

It was fortunate that Dorian was here to take care of Klaus. He'd quickly turned himself into a Venetian student of medicine about to graduate and jobbing as a waiter to freshen up his finances before embarking upon the last leg of his European tour. Everyone had been thankful to get the Major off their hands at least for an hour or two. They'd all gathered around the deathly pale and gasping Tobias and been perfectly happy to leave the Major to Dorian once he'd been carried up to his room and dropped on the bed.

If Dorian hadn't been so insistent, Eberbach senior would probably have left his son to sleep it off right there in the driveway.

No one seemed quite certain when the anaesthetic would wear off; the only certainty on the matter had been provided by the gamekeeper, who, when rung from his sleep at Dorian's insistence, had divulged the information that on a healthy young stag of average weight, one dart would guarantee around a half hour of sleep.

The Major had been out like a light for almost three hours. Dorian was beginning to worry. If he didn't show signs of beginning to wake up soon, Dorian would insist that a real doctor be called in to take some blood tests, or whatever it was doctors did under these circumstances. The poor Major couldn't be over six times lighter than an average stag, could he? He *had* turned out to be pretty heavy, after all…

Dorian had finally had the opportunity to undress his insensate love, and he hadn't even been in the proper mood to take full advantage. He'd pulled off his shoes, bow-tie and jacket and of course loosened his shirt - he could hardly not do so in his role as nurse - but he'd been too worried to enjoy it properly. It was not at all like his fantasy of getting the man drunk and undressing him… This was simply too serious. And of course the Major could wake up at any moment, and depending on what exactly Dorian was doing at that moment, might go straight into another one *those*rages.

All the same, Dorian hadn't been able to stop himself from stroking the smooth chest revealed beneath the unbuttoned shirt. In truth, he hadn't tried very hard. He had to calm himself down somehow, after all. And he couldn't help being interested in the fact that Klaus truly did have the most lovely legs - swimmer's legs, matching his slim hips and broad shoulders. No one could blame Dorian for running a more or less casual hand over his true love's legs. The Major was still wearing his tuxedo pants, after all. And it seemed as though he were wearing very thick flannel underwear besides. About six layers, by the feel of it. It was most frustrating.

"This would be more fun if you were awake and co-operating," Dorian sighed, combing a slow hand through his love's sleek dark hair. It was softer than he'd thought it would be - as fine as silk, naturally glossy. Just as beautiful as the rest of him.

Why did he have to have such a violent streak? It was quite daunting, really… The thought of someday provoking the Major once too often and making him fly into such a maniacal, mindlessly murderous frenzy…

Dorian shuddered and clenched his hand in his love's long hair. Damn the man. Couldn't he at least have the decency to be ugly?

"What did that geezer do to make you so angry?" he wondered, his roving hand gliding down to the exposed collarbone, stroking lightly. Not that it was all that difficult to make the Major throw a tantrum, but this had been something considerably beyond anything in the annals of written history.

He checked his berserker's heartbeat, which seemed strong and regular as far as he could tell. No chest hair, as he'd found… Perfectly formed pectorals though, muscular but not too bulky. Washboard stomach, too, just as he'd known... and oh, he felt so good, solid and warm and real beneath Dorian's touch, at last, after so long…

*I refuse to molest a sedated man,* Dorian told himself. He'd been trying to convince himself of this for the last three hours, and his power of self-persuasion was waning fast. *I will not sink to molesting a sedated man. No, not even if he won't notice. I'll be ethical and heroically refuse… For the most part… Damn…*

There was nothing in the room to distract himself with - he'd hardly ever been in even a hotel room with so little personal character. There was not a single picture on the wall, and the only furnishings were the bed, a closet, an empty desk and a chair, all seemingly chosen for their utilitarian and impersonally boring qualities. If it hadn't been for the interesting medieval-style window nooks, complete with built-in benches, it would have been quite the most horrible room Dorian had ever voluntarily spent time in. It ranked only slightly ahead of that unmentionable bed-and-breakfast near Dover where he'd once been forced to lie low for three days. Ever since those torture-filled days, Dorian had had a pathological dislike of pink-and-orange flowered wallpaper in combination with green upholstery.

The Major made a strange sound in his sleep - at least Dorian hoped it was in his sleep - and the thief hastily removed his hand from his one true love's belt buckle. Talk about bad timing! Was he going to wake up just when Dorian had finally defeated his conscience?

"Major?"

The regular breathing of the unconscious man hitched and became ragged; the still body lost its relaxed sprawl as consciousness returned, somehow exchanging loose-limbed relaxation for tension even before co-ordinated movement became possible again.

Dorian suppressed a sigh. His poor love… Look at that, even asleep he was all uptight and on edge. No wonder he went crazy from time to time. They would have to find some more pleasant outlet for all of that accumulated tension…

"Klaus," he whispered next to the Major's ear, his breath stirring the silky short hairs at the hairline. "Wake up, darling."

Awareness hit the Major's body with the impact of a bullet. Every muscle tensed at the same time, still tension turning into barely restrained violence screaming to be unleashed. Klaus twisted out from beneath Dorian's hands and was suddenly crouching on the other side of the bed.

Wild and dazed green eyes met Dorian's and with considerable disbelief, Dorian read an emotion there that he had never thought he would ever see in the Major. Panic.

It took almost the space of two breaths for recognition to rise in his love's eyes. The panic seeped out of his expression to be replaced by the more familiar piercing alertness, but he did not straighten from his defensive crouch.

"Dorian."

Dorian's breath caught. The Major had never called him by his first name before - he'd called him Eroica or Lord Gloria, but never Dorian. He didn't seem aware of what he'd said, and Dorian didn't want to react too overtly in case he'd say it again.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Is he still here?"

"I don't know," Dorian whispered, pausing to clear his throat and speak on in a more normal voice. "I think he wanted to leave, but he was - very shaken. Your father sat him down to get some brandy into him and calm him down."

The Major's mouth thinned into a harsh line, nostrils flaring. After a moment, he straightened and stood next to the bed in indecision, looking towards the door. The look in his narrowed eyes was nowhere near the wildness of several hours before, but even so Dorian found this level of hate disturbing.

"He had better not be there when I go downstairs," the Major said quietly. Dorian didn't think he was talking to him.

"Is he a spy?" Dorian ventured, putting forward the only theory he had been able to come up with.

Klaus laughed harshly. "Not to my knowledge. Not that I'd put anything past him." As an afterthought, he added, "Like some other people I could mention." He wasn't even looking at Dorian when he said it, though, and his voice was completely empty of the customary anger and disgust.

"Then what did he do?"

Completely ignoring the question, the Major stretched and winced, putting a hand to his back where the dart had gone in to feel the small spot of dried blood. "Don't tell me. My father shot me with the gamekeeper's rifle."

Dorian nodded slowly. He wondered whether this had happened before, but wasn't really sure he wanted to know the answer. Earlier, he'd wondered whether Eberbach senior would have shot his son with a regular rifle if he hadn't had this one at hand, and he'd decided that he wanted that answer even less.

"How long was I out?"

"Just about three hours."

The Major nodded and looked back towards the door. After a long moment, he turned away and walked to the window instead, leaning heavily on the sill with both hands. The elaborate formal gardens behind the castle had been illuminated with artfully placed torches, and Klaus looked out at the nocturnal landscape in silence, unmoving.

No one had ever accused Dorian of being overly patient. Curiosity, now… That he had in spades.

"What happens now?"

The answer was a long time coming. Dorian had already given up on receiving an answer when his love turned a little and leaned the side of his head against the windowpane. He probably had a headache. "I don't know," he said. "Why are you still here? Go away. I don't need the hassle of locking up a thief, as well."

"I'll have you know that I am a law-abiding student of medicine from Venice."

The Major snorted half-heartedly. "Medicine?"

"And it was a good thing that I was here and could be put in charge of you until you woke up again."

Klaus whipped around, catching Dorian entirely by surprise with the sudden violence of the motion. A touch of the wild panic was back in his eyes and Dorian could only stare in astonishment. It faded away almost immediately, but it had been there; Dorian had seen it, an entirely new expression that he had now seen twice in quick succession without being able to explain it in either case.

The two stared at each other for a while.

"Tell me something," the Major requested brusquely. "I want you to take time and think the question over seriously, and I want a truthful answer for once. Do you think that would be possible?"

Dorian blinked. "I - of course, Major, for you, anything."

The expected disgusted snort lacked spirit. "Just tell me why. What is it that you think you see in me that makes you act like this? What the hell have I ever done to encourage you or give you reason to believe I - what is it! Tell me what the hell it is!"

"I just love you, Major. There doesn't always have to be a reason that can be expressed in simple concepts and mere words. One day you'll realise -"

"What the hell kind of answer is that? Of course there is a reason! I asked you to think it over, you idiot, so think it over, damn you! I want a real answer!"

Stunned at the sudden vehemence, Dorian retreated half a step. "I - well, the obvious answer is that you're very beautiful, Major."

He calmed down at once, apparently acknowledging this as an acceptable response. His eyes narrowed and Dorian could almost see the wheels whirring away in his head. "So how do I become less *beautiful* to men like you? Cut off the hair? Grow a beard? Wear thick-lensed glasses and speak in dialect? *What?*"

There was something in the disgust in his Major's voice that made Dorian very uneasy. He spat out *beautiful* as though the word tasted bad in his mouth.

"I don't think it's possible for you to stop being beautiful," Dorian said simply. "It's not a bad thing. You should be -"

"Oh yes - I should be so thankful to be molested by perverts! What great good fortune to be born with a face that attracts warped degenerates like - you. I think I'll get an operation and be rid of this problem once and for all."

Dorian didn't know what to say to that, so he remained silent. His love was clearly agitated and paced back and forth through the room, stopping at last directly in front of Dorian, so close that he imagined he could smell him… feel the heat of his anger and frustration coming off him, the ineffable quality of Klaus that made him so mysteriously irresistible.

Amazing. Even frustration was sexy on the man.

"Do you never stop to think at all? This is so futile! You waste a ridiculous amount of energy and effort on an endeavour that is doomed to failure. *Why?* I don't understand you! Even assuming that you'd chosen someone - like you - someone who might eventually give in, it wouldn't be worth all of the trouble. Why are you behaving like an idiot? Why the hell don't you think it through and accept the undeniable facts of the -"

"Don't be silly. Having you in my bed will be well worth all of the trouble," Dorian said, not thinking at all. An instant later, he almost bit his tongue as he snapped his mouth shut too quickly, wishing he could bite the words back before they reached the Major's ear.

Dorian never could seem to remember that it was not a good idea to be too direct around his irascible love - talking of his love for the other man was bad, but talking of lust inevitably led to a major blow-up. Klaus was so volatile and, as Dorian had discovered early on in his campaign to win him, such a terrible prude.

Klaus was looking at him, eyes cold, but seeming almost distracted, lips compressed into a harsh line that completely obscured the sensually swung line of his mouth. Dorian couldn't quite decide whether his darling seemed more likely to hit him first and start shouting later or the other way around.

But, now that he thought about it, it was taking him unusually long to start with whatever it was he was going to do first…

Someone else might not have considered this an opening, but Dorian had been chasing his Major for years, subsisting on barely existing, perhaps mostly imagined hints of encouragement and a hope of success that was essentially based on pure self-confidence. Seen in this light, the uncharacteristic lack of violent denial was almost an encouragement.

Dorian launched himself at the Major without further contemplation, wrapping both arms around his neck and plastering himself to his front. Klaus started back violently, but only succeeded in hitting the side of the bed with the backs of his knees, neatly felling himself and ending up pinned to his bed by Dorian's body.

The Major's mouth was open, sucking in air in preparation for a deafening bellow. Dorian clung tighter and covered the other man's mouth with his own, not wasting any time. He knew he wouldn't have long, and he had to make the most of every instant.

Klaus' lips were soft and warm beneath Dorian's; delving as deeply into his love's mouth as he could, Dorian was almost dizzy with the joy of this unprecedented, stolen intimacy. The Major tasted very faintly of cigarettes, but mostly of himself, and unlike what Dorian would have expected if he'd stopped to think, he didn't bite. He didn't bite even when Dorian risked a split-second separation of their mouths only to dive back in at a better angle, stroking and teasing with every particle of his considerable skill. Klaus didn't respond, either, but that didn't perturb Dorian in the slightest. One day he would - one day soon, very soon now…

"I love you," he whispered fervently when he drew back at last, nuzzling his face into his true love's neck and the silky hair spread out beside it on the pillow like a raven's wing. "You're so wonderful."

The body beneath him shuddered and tensed, every muscle going rock-hard. Dorian could feel the chest expand against his, hands coming up in a bruising grip at his shoulders. His time was short. Klaus was trying to shift, evidently attempting to brace himself against the mattress and throw Dorian off, but he moved awkwardly, almost hesitantly… completely without his usual prowling, predatory grace.

The way he moved was one of the first things Dorian had noticed about him, even before he'd realised how magnificent a creature the man was as a whole. He could be terribly stiff, prudish and uptight, but he moved as though he had no bones at all. He flowed. He *stalked*. Like a panther, green-eyed and sleek - lovely, lethal, all controlled grace and contained violence… the beauty of razor-sharp fangs and honed steel.

Dorian didn't know quite when he'd become erect, but now he was achingly hard and throbbing and couldn't think past the raging desire for the incredible creature beneath him. His Major was shifting position and Dorian took advantage of the slightly opened thighs, wriggling forcefully and wedging himself between his love's legs.

The skin beneath his lips and teeth smelled and tasted of Klaus. Dorian bit down hard, grinding his erection against the other man's groin. If he hadn't been completely beyond rational thought, he would very probably have chosen to proceed somewhat less aggressively, but how could he hold back now that he finally tasted and touched and felt his love like this, now that his love's body was spread below him like a feast, very tense and again very still and not resisting, not fighting Dorian's touch…

Hands were still locked on his shoulders with painful force, but they didn't push him away. It was left to Dorian himself to pull back in order to tear at the Major's dress shirt frantically, ripping the front open all the way to the waistband of the pants.

Klaus made a small sound, a strange sound - not anger, not desire, not quite distress. Entirely captivating.

"It's all right love, it's all right, I'll show you - oh God, just let me show you -"

He'd closed his eyes and turned his face sideways into the pillow. His jaw was now clenched tightly shut, the perfectly sculpted mouth set into a thin line. He looked almost as though he were in pain.

It would have been a lie to say Dorian understood what was happening here, but he could not possibly have cared less. He understood enough - he saw that his elusive Major was at last within his grasp, and that was the only thing that mattered. Somehow, he had finally found the right moment, the right method, the right everything.

*Oh yes, yes, don't let him change his mind now, let this last just ten more minutes, half an hour, a lifetime…*

The cotton undershirt was warm with his Major's body heat and suffused with the subtle scent of his skin. Dorian licked and bit at the fabric covering one nipple while his hands tugged the shirt out of the pants and dove beneath, pushing it upwards. So warm, so solid, silken skin over sculpted muscle. Intoxicating. Irresistible.

And then the belt-buckle finally succumbed to his shaking, but deft fingers, and his hand slid beneath another layer of cotton into greater warmth, finding surprisingly soft curls and an only very slightly filled penis.

"Love you," he whispered again, unable and unwilling to hold back the words when the emotion was surging so wildly within him, tangled up with awe at the man's perfection and the fire-bright and still-rising rage of lust.

He curled his fingers gently around the Major and assayed an experimental caress. Klaus' body was so tense that Dorian fleetingly worried he'd develop a muscle cramp, but his cock was responding to Dorian's skilled caresses, slowly perhaps, but undeniably. Some part of Dorian wished he could undress his love fully and do this properly - slowly and exhaustively explore every delectable inch of Klaus' body - but that would have to wait because he wasn't about to let go now, not on any account, not for the entire contents of the Louvre.

The Major gasped in a desperate lungful of breath and let out a very quiet sound halfway between a growl and a sob.

Oh this was all so sudden and strange and it did not really feel like the surrender he'd envisioned, but Dorian wasn't about to waste precious time on thinking. Stubborn prudish pig-headed Klaus, making everything that should have been simple and natural so terribly difficult, always trying to turn everything into a joyless chore… But he'd teach him to let go and simply enjoy eventually, it would just take a little time. This was still Iron Klaus after all, he was still resisting his own sexuality and human needs but Dorian would teach him that there was more to life than cold duty and hard, joyless discipline…

*I have wanted you, wanted this, ever since I first looked at you properly, my love -* and he would have said it aloud but he couldn't speak with his lips and tongue caressing what was now a sizeable erection. He'd done this so often, but it had never been quite like this, it had never been as though the pleasure of the man beneath him was all one with his own pleasure, just as though there were no difference between the two at all.

Klaus made no sound at all as he came, and of everything that had happened, this surprised Dorian the least. There would be a time when he would scream Dorian's name, Dorian promised himself, even though he couldn't really imagine it. Still, he didn't doubt that he'd get him there eventually. Didn't he always get what he wanted?

He smiled and gently bit the inside of his lover's thigh before looking up again.

"You are so incredibly beautiful." Dorian's voice was dark and rough with lust and a muscle in the Major's jaw jumped visibly at the sound. He did not move as Dorian licked and nipped and bit his way up the lovely body, up to the collarbone and neck and ear.

Orgasm had relaxed Klaus fractionally, but the sound of Dorian's zipper made him tense right up again.

"Please," Dorian whispered into his love's ear. "Touch me."

The response was a long time in coming and he reflected fleetingly that he should probably have left this demand for some other time. It was a moot point, though - rational considerations had played no part in any of his actions since the moment his body had hit the bed on top of Klaus.

The case could also have been made that the moment in question lay much farther back, at some point during the second time he'd seen the man, the first time he'd felt the stunning allure of his particular, unique brand of loveliness, all those bleak, yearning months and years ago…

"Can't," his love bit out, immediately clenching his jaw again afterwards.

"Of course you can." Dorian was glad this would be the last time he'd have to seduce a nervous and uptight virgin to his bed. All he wanted was to pounce on the Major, who was more than any man could be expected to resist - priggish and incongruously dissipated all at once with the rucked-up undershirt tucked just above his nipples and the tuxedo pants and no-nonsense white boxers tangled about his thighs…

It took a long moment, but at last Klaus took a deep breath, finally unclenched his hands from Dorian's shoulders, and managed to square his own shoulders in sombre determination even though he was lying down in the tattered remains of formal wardrobe. His head turned smartly to the front and his eyes snapped open, focusing on Dorian, bright silver-green and unreadable as ever.

Aristocratic nostrils flared. "Very well." He sounded like someone about to jump out of the trenches for a desperate dash to reach enemy territory without being gunned down.

He kept his eyes open now, fixed on Dorian's face with peculiar and unswerving concentration. Dorian moved back a little, straddling his love's waist and bending down to brush a light kiss onto the set mouth. The hand at the back of his head caught him by surprise and he almost lost his balance as Klaus pulled him in for a deeper kiss, his mouth opening to welcome Dorian's in active co-operation this time. He kissed somewhat hesitantly - still not certain that he really wanted to be doing this.

Neither the hesitation nor the determined, almost cool competence of the kiss bothered Dorian. It was more initiative than he'd expected after Klaus' earlier imitation of a stone, and more than enough to make him gasp and tremble in sheer animal lust. Klaus had been able to burn him with a derisive glance; *this*… this was almost pain.

The Major didn't attempt to undress Dorian further. He slid one hand around his side to his still-clad buttocks, where it rested lightly. The other one started at his face, touching his cheek shyly, brushing over his lips and tugging off the wig to comb through Dorian's hair when it tumbled free, tugging at the long curls.

Dorian leaned into the caress mindlessly, trying not to forget to breathe. The unexpected gentleness was turning him on terribly and he would probably explode the moment Klaus touched him.

Klaus stroked down the side of his neck and Dorian heard himself making the most extraordinary moaning and gasping sounds. The touch firmed over his shirt-clad chest and did not hesitate at all when it slid onto bare skin again, closing around Dorian's erection lightly, but firmly. Dorian whimpered and bucked as fingertips pressed just beneath the head, cried out softly at the first strong stroke, and came with a strangled moan before Klaus could ever establish any kind of rhythm.

"Klaus," he whispered, crawling up the still body to snuggle against his chest. "Hmm… You most certainly can. That was wonderful. *You* are wonderful."

The Major closed his eyes again and swallowed, his deep breaths coming in calculated evenness. Almost immediately, he extricated himself from Dorian's clinging embrace and rolled to his feet smoothly, pulling up his trousers and straightening up the rest of his attire as well as he could. He didn't look at Dorian.

"This did not happen."

"Whatever you say, darling," Dorian purred. The stab of disappointed anger that flashed through him at his love's coldness was a bigger surprise than the coldness itself - he automatically fell back on one of his more overt 'screaming queen' voices and felt a certain amount of satisfaction at Klaus' instant and predictable reaction. "You know, I happen to have stumbled across a rather charming little gourmet restaurant not very far from here - Zur Alten Muehle, I believe. Let's have dinner tomorrow and see what else won't happen."

"GET OUT!"

It was a good imitation of his Major's usual rage, but not good enough to fool Dorian, who considered himself the greatest living expert on his love's tempestuous outbreaks of temper. There was something lacking in the tone - the volume was there, but the emotion was wrong somehow, and Klaus still wasn't looking at him. Dorian couldn't understand it, but he was beginning to grow slightly uneasy.

"Major, is anything wrong?" When you got right down to it, none of this made any sense… Not even his almost detached behaviour when he'd caught Dorian in the gallery had been characteristic, and it had gone farther and farther off track with his unprovoked attack on the old man in the hall, his strange passive willingness to be seduced, then even his active participation - and now this lacklustre temper…

Klaus whirled and glared at Dorian, tangled black hair falling into his eyes. "IS ANYTHING WRONG??? Now what could possibly be WRONG? You're here and he's here and my father is going to kill me and I've just let you - I - and - even though I've finally won, even though he KNOWS I have, it means NOTHING! And you haven't even told me *why*, you blasted queer! There are plenty of men around who are more *beautiful* than me and I know damned well that that isn't the real problem!"

Dorian had a hard time concentrating on the words. He'd always thought that Klaus in one of his rages was the hottest thing since flame throwers, but *now*, with the taste of him still in his mouth, the feel of his skin still tingling on his fingers… God, *now*…

Perhaps the reason for Dorian's preoccupation showed in his face; whatever the reason, something twisted in his Major's expression and he went into full melt down. As always, he was sexy as hell with his green eyes blazing like that… Still, maybe it would be not entirely unwise for Dorian to remove himself from his one true love's immediate proximity until the man had calmed down a bit.

Accordingly, he jumped up and sprinted for the door, successfully eluding Klaus' grip with a quick twist and slamming the door behind himself. He paused to zip up and then darted around the nearest bend in the grey stone hall, pressing back into a window nook in case the Major decided to brave the corridors in his dishevelled condition.

He did not, although a series of crashes announced that he was not yet entirely back in control over himself. Someone pounded down the corridor and stopped in front of his door. There was a noticeable pause before the unidentified someone knocked, somewhat timidly.

"Was! WAS!! Kann man denn in diesem verfluchten Irrenhaus keine Sekunde Ruhe haben, Herrgott verdammt nochmal!!!"

Even muffled by ancient stone and thick wood, his love's bellow was quite impressive. The answer of the timid knocker was not audible from where Dorian hid, but even the slightly damped response of the Major was still clear.

Really, Dorian reflected smugly, his command of the German language had benefited greatly from his love for the Major - he did want to know what his darling was saying when he was screaming at him, after all. So far, his understanding of curses and insults had been exercised most frequently, but he made a mental note to brush up on endearments and love-talk. Couldn't be all that long anymore now, he reasoned.

"Incompetent idiot! Half an hour I said!" Mumbling from the shy one. "Blast it!! Are you deaf? I said half an hour, so tell him half an hour, you spineless excuse for a man!" More mumbling, desperation clear in the tone. "Oh bloody damned well! Tell him to come up then. Miserable coward!"

 

Oh, now Dorian couldn't possibly miss this… The Major was going to have an interview with his father, who was probably the genetic source of that fierce temper and who would want to cast light on his son's peculiar outburst as much as Dorian did.

The muffled footsteps of the timid servant retreated and Dorian peeked around the corner to make certain the coast was clear before creeping back to his love's door. Low growling could be heard in the room beyond; then, an inner door slammed.

Dorian cracked open the door, assured himself Klaus was really in the bathroom, and slipped inside. After brief deliberation, he opted for the clichéd, but nevertheless best place of concealment under the circumstances - behind one of the very thick, dark red velvet curtains. If he pulled it up in front of the window nook just a bit, he'd even have a comfortable place to sit. Thank God for medieval window seats.

His love emerged from the bathroom wrapped head to toe in a bathrobe, of course. Dorian suppressed a disappointed sigh as Klaus lit up a cigarette, straightened up the bed with two efficient tugs and threw a day cover over it, pausing and bending to look underneath after a slight hesitation.

Dorian had briefly considered that hiding space and was beginning to feel smug for his foresight in choosing a better one when his love turned to face the window. Damn! Why hadn't Dorian thought of this? Of course he'd want to air the room to make sure no tell-tale scent of sex remained.

The door slammed open with enough force to rebound from the wall shuddering and the elder Eberbach stormed in. Dorian retreated behind the curtain as far as he could. Two of them in a small contained space… they were lucky if this didn't result in the destruction of the castle.

"Explain yourself." Very cold, but with the threat of explosion lurking just beneath the surface.

"I can't, sir."

Dorian winced. Oh, Major, not wise, not wise at all.

"You have no explanation or you will not give it?"

"I cannot give it."

"You have disrupted the festivities - cast a shadow over the marriage of your cousin - attacked, injured and nearly frightened to death my oldest friend and your own godfather - and you actually have the nerve to STAND HERE AND TELL ME YOU WON'T CONDESCEND SO FAR AS TO GIVE ME EVEN THE WEAKEST EXCUSE FOR YOUR INEXCUSABLE CONDUCT!"

There was no reaction at all and Dorian, who'd shrunk as far back against the cool stone as he could, risked tugging the fabric shielding him from sight back slightly to catch a glimpse of what was happening. The Major had sunk to sit on the edge of the bed, face closed, staring up at his father with no expression whatsoever on his face.

The elder Eberbach shuddered and stepped back, turning to pace back and forth several times in exactly the same way his son did when he was trying very hard not to hit someone. Klaus used the interval to inhale the rest of his cigarette and half of a new one.

"Robert has always been a good friend to you, and he still is even now, despite your unspeakable actions - he has not even attempted to put blame on you, although he has no more of a clue where this ridiculous grudge you have been holding for well-nigh fifteen years now originated than I do. He told me that he was certain you thought you had good reason. I can only say that this is a testament to his great high-mindedness and inexplicable good will to you as the son of a good friend!"

"I am sorry, sir, but I cannot discuss it with you," Klaus said in a low, almost dead voice that Dorian didn't like at all. "However, my - grudge - is not ridiculous. It is well-founded, and although I am aware it may be difficult for you to believe this when I cannot elaborate further, I am asking you to accept that I do have good reasons for my actions. Sir, I regret putting you into such a position and apologise for the disruption of the wedding celebration, but I am forced to ask you to trust -"

"After the way you have behaved today? How can I ever trust you to behave like a reasonable adult again after this! You were about to kill my oldest friend, you refuse even to tell me why, not that any explanation would be able to excuse such criminal conduct, and then you ask me to trust you? You have certainly never lacked for bloody nerve! I should have known to expect something like this after the way you used to be as a boy - it's incomprehensible to me that I should have such a son! All your life you have been -"

Klaus flung himself off the bed and stood nose to nose with his red-faced father. "I *can't* tell you! I would if I could, but - sir, just trust me for once - please!"

The last word sounded painful, as though it had not only been torn from him, but had injured him on the way. Dorian felt a sharp burn of resentment towards the older Eberbach. Couldn't he see what it had cost his son to bend this far? For Klaus, this kind of behaviour amounted to abject grovelling. What the hell did the old bastard expect, anyway - didn't he know his son at all?

"Klaus. I am ordering you as your father and the head of the house. Clear this up."

What dirty tactics! Dorian noticed that in his indignation at this underhanded blackmailing strategy, he had clutched the heavy curtain so tightly that he was about to bring it down. Hastily, he forced himself to let go.

The pause was long and painful, but Dorian had no doubt of who the victor of this bout would be. The elder Eberbach had played an unbeatable trump card - grab Klaus by his sense of honour and duty and you had him right where it hurt.

"I can't," the Major whispered at last. Dorian realised that he had never before heard him sound defeated.

For a terrible moment of stunned shock, Dorian thought the incredulous gasp had come from him; only when Eberbach senior added an inarticulate sputtering did he realise who the true originator of the sound had been.

It seemed that this particular underhanded tactic had never before been known to fail and now, Eberbach senior had no powder left to shoot with.

The silence that followed was now no longer painful, but terrible; the air was charged with tension and anger and Dorian imagined he could feel the building storm crackle in the room like electricity building up for lightning. He wouldn't have been surprised to see his hair stand on end from the charge.

The door slammed and heavy steps stomped off down the corridor. Inside the room, the silence was complete.

Dorian held his breath for as long as he could for fear the sound of his lungs working would give him away. When he could no longer manage, he was certain the sound that was so loud in his ears would have Klaus tearing aside the concealing curtain and beating him to kingdom come.

Nothing. The silence remained unbroken. There was not even the flick of a lighter or the deep inhalation of someone taking a drag at a cigarette.

Now he was beginning to worry, strange and improbable scenarios flickering through his mind. What if Eberbach senior had had a knife with him - what if Klaus was at this very moment bleeding out his life not three meters away from Dorian? Of course it was ridiculous, the old man wouldn't do that and no one died this silently, not even his stoic Klaus, at least Dorian was *sure* that there would have to be some kind of rasping or gasping or -

"Great high-mindedness!" Dorian was so relieved at this sign of life from his Major that the terrible bitterness in the low growl didn't register until the second fragment of conversation was replayed. "Inexplicable good will!"

In any good movie, this would have been the moment that Klaus, believing himself alone, would have relieved his heavy heart of the mystery weighing on him by entrusting it to the walls of his childhood domicile, thereby unintentionally filling in the good friend who watched and listened in hiding, concerned for the handsome hero and eager to earn his undying gratitude by taking care of whatever the problem was.

Unfortunately, Klaus did not have the part of the handsome hero down very well. After another endless moment of utter motionlessness, the bed creaked and the robe rustled as he stood up. The Major himself made no sound, but the closet creaked as well, and there was more rustling as clothes were selected and pulled out. Dorian tried to resist for only a second or two before risking discovery once again by twisting a fold of fabric and peeking out.

Klaus, still swathed in over-sized bathrobe and carrying an armful of formal tuxedo and starched white shirt, disappeared in the bathroom and closed the door. Amazing. The man went to the bathroom to change even in his own room.

Dorian waited around until his love emerged just to be certain he wouldn't be missing out on anything if he left early. Yes, indeed... The Major was buttoned up to the chin and only stopped to put on his shoes and light another of his ever-present cigarettes before following his father.

Well, he'd gotten the man into bed. It was only a matter of time before he managed to do it again at more leisure, enabling him to look his fill. And touch his fill, of course. Not to mention lick, bite, taste and smell and any other conceivable method of experiencing Klaus…

Thoughtfully, Dorian sat on his love's bed. After a moment, he pulled back the day cover and tugged the pillow into his lap, burying his face in it and breathing in his Major's subtle, unique scent.

Now. How could he find out just what the hell had happened here this evening?

What facts did he have to go on? Well, start with the obvious - there was bad blood between the Major and this Tobias, bad blood of a magnitude that had sent the Major into a rage the likes of which Dorian had never seen before, and he had seen quite a number of volcanic outbursts. But this - this had been new and frightening, just like the glimpses of a panic alien to the man Dorian knew and loved.

And he'd been behaving strangely in other ways, as well. He'd even started talking about why Dorian was attracted to him when he never talked about such things - he'd come right out and asked what he could do to become unattractive to Dorian and men like Dorian, demanded to know what it would take to rid himself of "the problem". What a typically contrary and skewed attitude to take on the matter of his own beauty that was. Anyone else would have been glad, but no, not Klaus. Nothing was ever that simple with Klaus. *What great good fortune to be born with a face that attracts warped degenerates like - you.*

At the time, Dorian hadn't paid attention to the way his love had spoken that sentence, but in retrospect it hit him that Klaus probably hadn't been thinking of Dorian at all when he'd started that sentence… He'd substituted the reference just in time.

Bloody hell! Who had been chasing his Major when Dorian's back was turned? And how could he have missed this?

Dorian punched the pillow in his lap in frustration and jumped up to pace around the bleak and depressing room his love called home. How dare some brazen stranger hit on his Klaus - was it that ridiculous English agent? Was it that simpering little transvestite in Klaus' own office? Or was it someone else entirely, someone he'd just met - But no, Dorian was certain he'd have heard of that. He had his sources, after all, sources who knew how much it would interest him to hear of someone else daring to cast a covetous eye at his Major. It must have been before Dorian had found Klaus and staked his as of yet not quite confirmed claim to the man. Some years back, some brassy lecher must have -

And just like that, it all clicked into place.

There was bad blood between the Major and this Tobias *because of something that had happened many years back*, when Klaus had still been a child - something that both Tobias and the Major refused to elaborate on. Something that the Major would not, *could* not talk about even now, not even when his father invoked his overdeveloped sense of duty and family loyalty.

Something that had evoked a frightening, berserk rage in Klaus.

Oh no. Oh no, *no* -

This entire strange and frightening episode suddenly made a terrible kind of sense. So many other things did, as well - the Major's violently negative reaction to Dorian's advances, his dogged refusal to accept that there was anything but twisted perversion in Dorian's affection, even his lack of interest in sex in general… His ridiculously exaggerated prudishness… And of course his reaction to the sight of an old friend of his father's, whom he'd almost killed with his bare hands in front of his father, Dorian, everyone…

Who had brought stark panic into Iron Klaus' eyes. Who had had to do nothing but open a door and step into his fierce, fearless Major's line of sight in order to do so.

"Oh *no*, oh my God no," Dorian whispered, appalled. He didn't want to believe this - it seemed hardly possible that such an appalling thing could happen to Klaus, not to *Klaus* - he would have killed the man first, torn him limb from limb and spat on the corpse… But then he hadn't always been a six-foot two fully trained NATO agent, had he, and he *had* tried to kill the bastard, a little late, but the attempt had unmistakably been in complete earnest…

*Oh God, my love… What has that bastard done to you?*

And what had *Dorian* done?

But it wasn't the same, Dorian loved him, Dorian would never hurt him or - or force him to do something he didn't want to do...

Dorian realised with a surge of nausea that he couldn't really be sure that that wasn't exactly what he'd done. He'd jumped on Klaus, pushed him down, kissed him and groped him and almost forced a reaction - and how could he be sure that the reaction he'd gotten at last was due to an attraction on Klaus' part that he just didn't want to admit? That was what he'd thought at the time, what he'd wanted to think, but… How could he be sure it wasn't something else entirely, that Klaus hadn't been lying so tense and still because he'd been reliving memories of something so terrible that he couldn't even move to escape from Dorian's touch, that his physical reaction hadn't been mere reflex forced from his body against his will, that he hadn't just been suffering through a replay of something he'd thought he'd put behind him forever long ago…

But it *couldn't* be the same! Dorian loved him. Dorian loved him! He hadn't wanted to hurt him -

The desperate thought seemed even weaker now than it had a moment before, the hope drowning in despair. Because really, how likely was it that Tobias had deliberately set out to hurt his best friend's son, his own godson - wasn't it far more probable that he'd thought he felt some - some kind of - affection -

*I came because I had hoped that now that we were both rational adults, we could finally bury this ridiculous ill feeling you have been nursing.* Ridiculous ill feeling. Great high-mindedness.

Dorian made a dash for the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet in time. He hadn't eaten much today, but even after he'd regurgitated every scrap of food he'd ingested in what seemed like the last two weeks, his stomach refused to settle down and he retched miserably, bringing up nothing but a thin dribble of bile that burned his throat and made his eyes tear.

It was also possible that he was crying. At this point he couldn't distinguish between the nausea and the horror anymore.

Was there really a difference between Dorian and Tobias? How could Dorian have failed to notice something so fundamental - how could he have forced his attentions on his love so vehemently and been so oblivious to Klaus that he had never realised - had never even considered the possibility -

Nothing had truly changed, but now Dorian suddenly saw how far from his grasp everything he had hoped for, everything he had thought would soon be his, truly was. He'd been making a bloody fool of himself - he'd been expecting the Major to fall into his arms and bed at any moment, never realising how far from success he had truly been in his hopeless campaign.

Not even in those occasional and brief moments of self-pity when he'd despaired of ever carrying his point with his stubborn love had Dorian considered giving up before. But now… How could he not? Knowing what he knew now, how could he force his love on Klaus any longer, knowing what it must mean to his one true love to be pursued like this - knowing that he was causing pain and torment where he wanted only to heal, to soothe and comfort and love…

But he knew he would be fooling himself with a decision to stay away from the Major. Klaus might never let Dorian close, but somehow or other his image had insinuated itself so deep into Dorian's previously all but impervious heart that he could not let go of the last sliver of hope without losing himself.

And somehow, this was almost the most terrible part of this evening's revelations. For the first time in his life, Dorian was literally sickened by his own egotism. It didn't help that he suspected even his self-disgust was nothing more than a method to ease his conscience.

It was too late. He couldn't let go now. Not even to prevent more pain to his beloved could he stay away. Not even when he'd already raped the only man he had ever loved could he stop yearning after his body.

There was nothing left in his stomach, not even bile. It didn't seem to make a difference. He threw up anyway.

***

"Oh my! Look, the Neckar. And that would be the old town centre over there, I dare say. You can see quite a bit from up here, can't you, girls?"

Klaus suppressed a growl. The girls timidly agreed with their mother's inane statement, one even going so far as to smile at Klaus hesitantly.

The Countess of Thurnis, Hedwiga, youngest daughter of the Duke of Bavaria, leaned out of the narrow window of the Powder Tower's belfry for a moment longer, her boyishly short hair fluttering in the breeze. Her three daughters stood together at another window on the far side of the small space, only one of them seeming interested in the view of the town of Eberbach and the adjacent river valley spread out below. One of the others was shivering a little from cold because she had foolishly failed to consider the weather when choosing her designer costume for the outing.

Klaus considered the possibility that she had gone without a warmer coat on purpose in order to oblige him to lend her his own - which he would only do if she came right out and asked for it herself, which he knew perfectly well was out of the question. He then wondered whether his job was making him paranoid or whether he'd always been this way.

"Isn't that Heinrich's car there? He had one of those older Rolls Royces last I saw him. I thought he was in Austria at some ridiculous cabinet meeting or other and couldn't come. Really, you'd think he'd have taken a clue from what happened to his unfortunate great-uncle when he tried to get back into politics. The men in that line have never had a sense of timing, and anyway I have always held that - goodness. Who's that? *That's* not one of Heinrich's lot. I'm quite certain."

Klaus looked down on the old market square and a miniature figure wrapped in a royal blue cloak and had no doubt at all of the figure's identity. Even if the wide brim of the extravagant hat completely obscured the wearer's face and hair from this point of vantage, there was something about the movements, the way he shook out his cape and settled the hat at the correct angle before turning to walk into the lobby of the "Hotel Karpfen", the most expensive hotel in town.

"That," he said, his mood for once taking a radical swing to the better at the man's appearance as he saw the gleam in the Countess's eye, "Is Dorian, the Earl of Red Gloria."

"Really!" She whirled away from the banister at once, posture straightening and face settling into determination. Her girls straightened beneath the scrutiny of their mother, who was looking at them like a general mustering the troops. " Maria, girl, your hair. Straighten that jacket, Hannah. Don't hunch your shoulders. Didn't you have anything more fitting to wear? Konstanze, you're growing prettier every time I look, and of course your English is excellent…"

Klaus smiled maliciously and stepped aside to let the attack formation sweep through the narrow door leading to the winding staircase, intent on settling on the hapless Eroica and incidentally leaving Klaus behind in perfect peace and quiet.

That was the plan, at least.

The Countess stopped and snagged Klaus' sleeve. He tried to jerk the fabric from her grasp, glaring at the woman indignantly, but she was unimpressed and held on firmly. "You must introduce us, Klaus. How well do you know the Earl?"

The Major turned up the intensity of his glare until it had reached the dimensions of a full glower. This expression had made trained KGB agents drop their guns in sheer fright and made even his superiors take cover, but Hedwiga, with countless generations of high-handed and often fatally self-confident nobility in her blood to back her up, was completely unfazed.

"Quite well enough," he snapped finally.

"Then perhaps you know whether the rumours I have occasionally heard concerning his - ah - life-style are founded in truth?"

This was the outside of enough. Klaus tore his sleeve free with a violent jerk and snarled "I do not concern myself with rumours." This was completely untrue, of course - rumours were an excellent source of information in any field - but he really did not feel inclined to discuss the Earl's sexuality right now. Or ever.

The Countess was watching him in mild surprise, her eyebrows climbing into her hairline. "How unwise of you, Klaus. But it doesn't really matter, I suppose. Everyone must marry for one reason or another, after all."

"Eventually," he snapped, with a tone of voice that he hoped made it very clear that as far as he was concerned, eventually was a very long way off.

She lowered her elevated eyebrows and smiled enigmatically. "Shall we go?"

And so they went.

Klaus tried not to think. He'd been not-thinking ever since last night. As long as he didn't think, everything would flow smoothly and normally onwards. As long as he didn't acknowledge anything unusual - anything he didn't want to acknowledge - it could not make a difference to him. Nothing would truly change if he did not allow it to change him.

A pile of suitcases, hatboxes and assorted other items of luggage was already piled in front of Eroica's car when Klaus and the Thurnis women emerged from the tower's entrance. Hotel employees were bustling back and forth to carry the load inside while Bonham continued to produce new items of the Earl's travelling wardrobe out of the limitless trunk of the Rolls Royce.

Klaus marched by without acknowledging Bonham, but noted the small start the older man gave when he caught sight of him. It made him feel a little better to know that there were still *some* people around who were properly intimidated by him.

The Earl of Red Gloria was draped artistically over the front desk, all sunlight-blond curls and midnight-blue satin, one hand negligently splayed on the counter, the other one stemmed into his waist, gathering back the folds of the voluminous cloak and holding the hat. He was wearing a billowy white blouse, black trousers and thigh-high black boots beneath the wrap; the only thing missing was a sword. From the ridiculous clothing to the elaborate, calculated pose, everything about the man was too much - too extravagant, too obviously calculated to draw attention, too exuberant, too loud… too everything.

Taking a deep breath, Klaus steeled himself. "Lord Gloria," he barked. "May I present to you Hedwiga, the Countess von Thurnis, and her daughters Maria, Konstanze and Johanna von Thurnis. Hedwiga, girls, this is Dorian Earl of Red Gloria. Have a nice day."

The man coming in with a new set of Eroica's luggage hastily jumped aside for him, but Hedwiga was too fast for the Major. She snatched his arm and dragged him right back to the front desk, where Eroica was now staring at the gaggle of Thurnis girls with huge, startled blue eyes.

"Now, Klaus, don't rush off, it's not polite, and we haven't seen the Nepomuk Church or the Medieval baths yet. We're going to invite the Earl to join us, aren't we? Lord Gloria, do come along. Dear Klaus is showing Eberbach to us, we just saw lots of medieval fortifications and ammunition towers and such and there's still a whole day ahead of us! And we can all go up to the castle afterwards and -"

"No! I happen to know Lord Gloria is a very busy man," Klaus ground out hastily before that infernal woman could come out with her latest horrendous scheme. "We cannot impose upon him. I know he'll gladly drop everything for the sake of not offending anyone, and really, I absolutely insist that he not go out of his way."

"Klaus, don't be so stuffy. Let's just let the Earl speak for himself, shall we? I know Lord Gloria would love to see -"

"I AM NOT STUFFY!" Klaus roared. This was simply too much! Did he really have to stand here and let himself be insulted by the unbearable dragon just because she was related to him around three dozen corners?

For a long moment, the lobby fell utterly silent. Even Eroica flinched slightly, but Hedwiga only tutted and waved an amused hand at her new hope for one of her daughter's matrimonial prospects. "Don't mind Klaus, Lord Gloria. He's all roar and no bite. Let's all go over to that charming little café we passed earlier to take tea."

The Major gave up. Sometimes the best way to handle an appalling situation was to go with the flow - at this point, further attempt to better it would only muddy the waters further and most likely lead to even worse results.

Damn - he was out of cigarettes. He barked a command at the woman behind the front desk, who happened to be unfortunate enough to catch his eye when he looked around searchingly. She'd been watching the entire proceedings with an increasingly wide-eyed and rabbit-like expression, and now she jumped to get him a new packet of cigarettes with gratifying promptness.

Sweeping a dark glower across the entire lobby just in case anyone felt like giving him any more nonsense to deal with, Klaus met Eroica's gaze for the first time. The man looked doubtful, almost unhappy, really, and Klaus' mood lifted slightly. At least he wasn't the only one forced to endure the curse of the matchmaking witch. And if the damned nuisance thought that he was safe just because he was queer, he was in for a nasty awakening.

***

"What brings you to Eberbach, Lord Gloria?"

The question caught Klaus' wandering attention and he listened with half an ear as Eroica spun out an improbable yarn of an auction in Heidelberg, friends in Neckarsteinach and an interposed tour of the countryside.

The dragon had taken care of the seating arrangements in a manner most agreeable to Klaus; he was sitting in between two of the marriageable daughters while Eroica was wedged in between Konstanze the English-speaking and Hedwiga the Horrible herself. The two girls next to Klaus had fallen silent after only the most desultory attempts at striking up a conversation with him, and their mother was too busy grilling the English Earl to bother him, which also meant that the English Earl was too busy countering her conversational sallies to bother Klaus.

The Major had simply leaned back, sipped his coffee, and allowed his thoughts to drift. He'd also been smoking almost constantly, silently daring anyone in the café to protest. No one had felt up to the challenge so far. Too bad. Klaus could have done with blowing off a little steam.

It was time to think. Not thinking was all well and good while it carried you through a difficult situation without making you falter the way thinking would have. Sooner or later, though, there came the point when a switch in strategy was called for. Not thinking was no solution in the long run - it was a danger in itself, and it was cowardly. Whatever else he might be, Klaus had never been a coward.

Very well, then.

The first step in any investigation was to gather the available facts. The facts of the case were clear enough for the most part - Eroica had been pursuing him for years, and yesterday, Klaus had allowed himself to be caught.

It was the question of motivation that was giving Klaus trouble. Of course Eroica had never made a secret of either the circumstance that he was a perverted queer or that he wanted to get the Major into bed, but those factors were only the surface facts of the matter and the more important reasons behind them were as completely in the dark as ever. What was it that drove Dorian to desire the Major, of all people? Was it the challenge, perhaps? What *could* it be?

And as for Klaus' own motives… There were too many possibilities, and none of them seemed satisfactory.

He caught himself shying away from the subject and frowned darkly at his own cowardice. It was fruitless to deny something that had inarguably taken place. The proper procedure was to analyse it, find out why it had happened, and employ the results of the analysis to determine an optimal plan of action.

Facts, he reminded himself. Work with what you know. The fact was that he had voluntarily had sex with another man - with Eroica. He could easily have fended off the thief's advances, but he had chosen not to do so. Instead, he had allowed another man to have complete access to his body and bring him to climax. And more than that, he had returned the favour when Eroica had asked him to.

He had threatened to kill Tobias on sight, and then he had turned around and let Dorian give him a blow job. It made no sense.

But of course that wasn't true, and he didn't let himself get away with the weak and foolish attempt at evasion. It made sense, all right. Everything made sense. One only had to discover the controlling and unifying facts behind the apparently random events that made it to the light of the public.

He took another drag on his cigarette, leaned back more comfortably in his chair and regarded Eroica, ruthlessly dragging up and sorting out his own feelings. The thief was frivolous, flighty, exasperating and irritating, and almost always acutely embarrassing to be seen with. The man made no secret of his predilection towards larceny and sexual perversion, and the only principles he followed were his own giddy whims and fancies. The pursuit of personal pleasure ruled his existence. An existence more futile and pointless could hardly be imagined.

Still, no matter how often Klaus had declared that he hated Eroica, this was not true. The thief frequently annoyed him to the point of physical violence, but he couldn't hate someone so essentially harmless. He was a major nuisance, he was a thief, and he was a pervert, but in the end he was no more than an overgrown and irresponsible child.

The man had no sense of proportion, no feeling for the relative importance of things, no larger point of view beyond his own wishes and desires. He was infantile and irresponsible, yes, but there was not the slightest spark of malice in him - he was, in his own strange, debauched way, an innocent, pure of heart and as naïve as a new-born. And the Earl's boundless enthusiasm, irrepressible cheer and intense joie de vivre were almost endearing at times - Eroica was playing at life like the child that, in a way, he was. He played dress-up, he chased after every shining bauble that caught his fancy, he always wanted to have his own way, and he always seemed to expect life to follow some dramatic, elaborately romantic script that he had written for it in his own mind.

He exasperated the Major, but at the same time, he… drew him. Now, looking at Dorian's perfect profile, the carefully groomed tumble of golden curls, and the ridiculous pirate outfit, what Klaus felt was almost like… affection.

Right on cue, Dorian turned his head and looked at Klaus, smiling slightly at something the Countess was saying. Deep down in Klaus' being, buried so deep down he would have missed it if he hadn't been searching for it, something never before acknowledged stirred at the look in Eroica's deep blue eyes.

Shaken, the Major looked away, and by the time he had collected himself to return the thief's scrutiny, a renewed scowl directed at his own weakness gracing his features, Dorian was not looking in his direction anymore.

It didn't matter. Klaus had found the facts he had set out to find. What had happened yesterday had not been a fluke - an aberration caused by the stresses of the day and the after-effects of extreme anger and a heavy narcotic. He was attracted to Eroica. There was no way around it.

 

Well, hell. There was no use denying it - he *would* face facts. He was not weak and cowardly enough to deny a proven fact merely because he did not want it to be true. Major Klaus von dem Eberbach was attracted to another man - had, in fact, had sex with him. This obviously meant that he was queer.

Or did it? Perhaps he was only experiencing a temporary upsurge of the bi-sexual tendencies dormant in everyone. Of course, that line had sounded like a load of crap when he'd heard one of the NATO psychologists spout off some drivel of the kind, but then - hell, what did Klaus know about it?

Damn. It looked like he was going to have to find out one way or the other, whether he wanted to or not. Not even his own urges seemed interested in what he wanted anymore. Instincts... What anachronistic nonsense. As if he didn't have enough to deal with already.

No use moaning about it. The question was now what he was going to do about this appalling situation.

Once he'd found the right angle of approach for the problem, it really wasn't all that alien. Just another problem to be solved, another ominous mystery to be cleared up, it's destructive potential safely dissipated.

First things first… Most of all, more facts had to be gathered.

So far, Dorian had seemed unusually subdued, which Klaus had chalked up to the Countess' account. The Major was immensely relieved that the flamboyant Earl wasn't trying to flaunt the true extent of his relationship with Klaus in front of the Thurnis family, which was far more discretion than could have been expected from the nuisance - Klaus would have denied everything heatedly, of course, and there was no doubt in his mind that he would have been believed, but it would have been utterly mortifying all the same.

But whatever his reasons, Eroica was as well-behaved as Klaus had ever seen him, conversing with the Countess and even her dumb daughters with more patience than Klaus had ever been able to conjure forth for this kind of empty social prattle. He had looked at Klaus, yes, but even the Major couldn't blow up at looks alone, particularly since they'd been almost discreet by the thief's standards. He hadn't made any outright propositions or even flirtatious remarks, and for Eroica, that was the epitome of discretion.

Good. The unusual reticence made it easier for Klaus to carry out his own newly forged plans. He hoped Dorian would continue to hold back his over-abundant exuberance a bit. Klaus thought he would find all of that enthusiasm a bit daunting when it came down to the crunch. Not that he was afraid, of course. Merely - somewhat apprehensive.

"Dinner at eight, the restaurant you mentioned," he said casually as the Thurnis daughters collected their handbags, jackets and assorted other paraphernalia in preparation to leaving the café at long last.

"Pardon me… Major?"

Klaus glared at Dorian. The man looked almost shocked. Now what? Had he suddenly become shy after a lifetime of brazenness, or was this merely another of his aggravating poses? "Are you deaf or just stupid? I said eight, tonight. Understood?"

Evidently so. The thief agreed very quickly after being asked the second time, although he still looked a bit dazed.

***

As its name implied, the restaurant "Zur Alten Muehle" had once been a mill. The brook that had been used to power the grinding stones had long since been diverted or dried up - Klaus rather thought he should have remembered which, but was too distracted to attempt to retrieve the memory of what he had once learned of local history. The wheel had been preserved, though, and the building itself had been first a shed, then a private house, and had now been converted into a small, exclusive gourmet restaurant.

Klaus parked some streets away from the old mill and walked the rest of the way on foot. Force of habit - he knew that his car was far less likely to be recognised than he himself was. It didn't make a difference. He was having dinner with a foreign Earl who was passing through, a man whom he had run into several times before in Bonn. Nothing could have been more innocuous. Except, perhaps, inviting said foreign Earl up to the formal dinner now taking place in Schloss Eberbach.

Eroica would be very surprised to learn that he was of a retiring bent and very shy of joining large gatherings when he didn't know anyone there.

"Good evening, my love," Dorian said softly. He was leaning against the side of the Rolls Royce and Klaus bent quickly to glance inside, making sure that no Bonham or - God forbid - James was hiding inside to make sure he didn't injure their precious Master or, horror of horrors, make him pay for the meal.

Klaus surveyed Dorian's clothes in approval and not a little relief. He'd chosen to come in black slacks and a burgundy cashmere sweater; even the long coat he wore over it was unremarkable. His golden curls gleamed in the light falling out of the old mill's windows. He was wearing them loose, and they tumbled across his shoulders in artful disarray.

Because it was the purpose of this entire outing, the Major allowed himself to evaluate the other man's aesthetic appeal. High, delicately sculpted cheekbones, a nose almost as sharply aristocratic as Klaus' own, a mouth elegantly swung, but not generous. His classically handsome features might even have been on the ascetic side if it hadn't been for the eyes… Large and intensively, vibrantly blue. Taken all together, Dorian was undeniably attractive.

Deciding to give himself a bit more time before attempting to analyse and evaluate the impact Eroica's appeal had on him personally, Klaus pointed his chin towards the entrance of the mill. "Let's go."

The thief sighed. "Why is it that everything you say to me either sounds like an insult or an order?"

Klaus lifted his eyebrows. "Why the hell do you think?"

"I suppose it *was* a stupid question." Another sigh. "I do appreciate the butchness, so I shouldn't complain."

He appreciated the *butchness*? For a moment, Klaus wondered whether this should be considered an affront, but then decided that it wasn't worth the effort of an appropriate response that would only distract him from more important matters. He contented himself with a disgusted snort.

"You are so beautiful," Dorian said softly, sounding almost mournful.

Earlier that evening, he'd stared at his reflection for what had seemed like a very long time. He was relatively even-featured - that was, no particular feature distinguished itself in a negative way. His eyes were perhaps rather unusual on account of the colour, and of course he was in excellent physical shape, but that could hardly be it, and there was nothing else. He didn't see it, whatever it was. He still couldn't understand.

Klaus glared at Eroica with a vague kind of suspicion that was not dispelled by the other man's peculiarly earnest and intense, almost searching gaze.

After a moment, he shook his head impatiently and turned on his heel, marching off to the restaurant. Part of him was still hoping that Dorian would decide he'd had enough of being insulted and ordered around, but he knew very well that it was a vain hope - he'd been insulting the man for as long as he'd known him, and it had never made him back off. Dorian didn't seem to have any pride at all.

And for the moment, it was better that he didn't change his mind. After all, Klaus was trying to resolve something important.

Inside the small entrance area of the old mill, Klaus stopped and looked around the circular room, orienting himself. The décor picked up on the mill theme, using lots of stone and wood. An old millstone was mounted high on the wall next to the entrance, and the Major gave it a brief look to ensure that it was secured adequately. Most of the small number of tables were already occupied. There was a cast-iron staircase in the middle of the room, winding up along the side of a stone fireplace open to four sides. There was no fire lit, but all the same it made for a pleasing partition of the room.

Klaus chose a table and indicated his choice to a very polite and formal waiter who had come hurrying up to him. The waiter began to protest something about a prior reservation, but speedily decided that he could still change the arrangement when Klaus skewered him with a steely look.

The Major ignored Dorian until he'd sat down and ordered a bottle of the house wine, but he was very aware that the other man had followed him just as expected and now sat across from him.

"I appreciate your co-operation," Klaus forced out stiffly because he had determined earlier that he would do his best to be polite. He needed Eroica's co-operation if this was to work, and the truth was that he *was* grateful, not for the fact the man had turned up at all - which had not been in true doubt - but for his apparent and all but unprecedented effort not to offend Klaus' sensibilities by his attire or conduct. So far.

Dorian fiddled with the napkin and smoothed back his hair. He said nothing. He didn't seem to be entirely comfortable.

Good. Neither was Klaus.

"This isn't some kind of NATO business meeting, is it?" the Earl asked at long last.

Klaus snorted and didn't bother to answer. Stupid question - he wasn't in the habit of inviting outside NATO contractors to dinner.

"You need something stolen?" Dorian tried again. "You want your Leopard tank back?"

The reminder of the second theft the irritating man had perpetrated on Klaus caused a brief surge of righteous anger to rise, but he forced it down determinedly. He wasn't going to let himself be distracted. "Keep it," he snapped brusquely. "It's an outdated model by now."

The arrival of the wine and menus thankfully interrupted the less than pleasant conversation. The waiter poured a centimetre of wine into Klaus' glass, and when Klaus had fulfilled his role in the little ritual by tasting and approving the waiter's selection of vintage, he looked up to find Dorian watching him with a hint of his usual flirtatious smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

"What?" he snapped reflexively, barely managing to choke back the extremely stupid second question why the man was looking at him like that. He *knew* why the perverted queer was staring at him like that, God damn him. He wished he didn't.

Dorian laughed. "Nothing, darling. Should I even bother to look at the menu or are you going to order for me?"

Klaus struggled with himself and thought he managed to contain his glower for the most part. This wasn't going well - he was too touchy, too unnerved by the situation. He had to unwind, or this would all be for nothing. Not acceptable. He was here for a purpose. He knew what he had to do.

*So do it. Only a coward would back down from what he knows must be done.*

And so he did not snap at the brightly smiling pervert or even glare at him. Instead, he looked down at the elegantly leather-bound menu for a moment and called upon his schooling as well as his courage, dredging up a response that would have been appropriate if he'd been here with a woman.

"If you wish," he said then, lifting his gaze and forcing a smile that wanted to bare teeth, but didn't. "Perhaps you would prefer some help with translating the entree, though. I do not know what you would like best."

Blue eyes widened in astonishment. Dorian blinked down at the menu, then up at Klaus again.

"Oh," he said after another unusually long pause. "I think I see." And then a new kind of smile dawned slowly on his face, eliminating any trace of the strange reticence and transforming Dorian's peculiar reserve into an unabashed glow of radiant happiness.

Klaus quickly leafed past the soups and busied himself with selecting something he might be able to force down past the constriction in his throat. He hoped that by the time he had to look at the other man again, he would have regained some measure of - decorum. Composure. Whatever.

"Thank you," Eroica said softly, startling the Major into glancing across the table briefly. The smile was gone, but the glow was still there. Damn. "For offering to translate, I mean, although it's not necessary. My German is pretty good, you know, and I normally steer clear of anything I can't place. Do you know, a couple of days ago I was subjected to a most unpleasant experience because James had somehow succeeded in phoning ahead and ordering the daily special for all of us. He thought it would be cheapest, although why, I can't imagine. It was quite disastrous - the poor fellow had a nervous breakdown when the bill arrived. He kept wailing 'and the call was twenty pfennigs!' Anyway, the reason why I'm telling this story is that that was my first introduction to Saumagen - though fortunately I didn't find out just what it actually *was* until the day after."

Eroica hardly paused for breath before prattling on, apparently requiring no further encouragement. He made Saumagen sound like a major ecological hazard. The Major had never tried this particular dish because the thought of eating a pig's stomach revolted him. The times when it had been unthinkable to waste any part of an animal were past, and he saw no reason to adhere to customs formed by a long-past and outdated necessity - after all, he didn't run around in uncured animal skins, either. However, for some reason he now felt the urge to defend Saumagen against Eroica. He didn't really think that a man whose nation would cheerfully consume porridge and baked beans for breakfast had grounds for complaint.

He resisted the impulse for starting a defence of the unknown Saumagen, though - it was illogical, and he was not here to fight. Although he did seem to be reminding himself of that fact strangely often.

Fortunately, Dorian had now settled in for a long chatting session and needed little encouragement from the Major to hold an amazingly animated and far-ranging conversation, more or less completely by himself. Klaus listened to amusing anecdotes and assorted excursions into art history and related subjects without really hearing a word of what Eroica was saying, letting the words wash over him like a soothing shower. Dorian had a pleasant voice when he wasn't pulling that atrocious flaming queer act.

There were many things Klaus didn't understand about Eroica, and why the man chose to expose his perversion for the world to see was one of the most incomprehensible points in the thief's character. Dorian lacked for neither intelligence nor straight-forward pragmatism - the fact that he was still free to pursue his dishonest trade after all these years was more than sufficient testament to that. It would take far less cunning to disguise Dorian's sexual preferences from the world than to disguise the identity of the infamous thief Eroica. Instead, the man flaunted himself and his perverted proclivities at every opportunity, making a disgraceful spectacle of himself and even taking pride in the fact.

By the time the waiter appeared to take their orders, Klaus found that he had weathered the first crisis and was again reasonably fortified against whatever was yet to come, prepared to carry on with the plan he had devised. He had even steeled himself to order for Eroica if it became necessary, but fortunately Dorian did not put his resolve to the test, choosing to order for himself.

Dorian grew more animated as he talked, the last traces of his earlier, uncustomary reserve dissipating completely. Familiar gestures and poses crept back into his body language - he tilted his head artfully to the side and smiled, sweeping his eyelashes down to glance up again almost coyly; he leaned to the side with one hand supporting the chin; he flipped back the tumble of golden curls with a negligent toss of the head. Klaus gauged and evaluated the gestures and decided that they were doubtless chosen for their presumed seductive value. He didn't think Eroica was aware of doing it, but he was flirting again.

As long as Eroica kept the flirting to this level, though, the Major could simply ignore it. It would be unreasonable to reprimand him when he was already being unusually circumspect about it.

"And do you think he noticed? Not Nigel. You wouldn't believe the look on his mother's face when she returned. Of course I wasn't there and so I didn't actually see it, but I can just imagine -"

Klaus regarded Dorian as he flirted and sparkled and prattled and could not find either anger or disgust for the other man in his heart. At the bottom of all of Dorian's enraging pranks and capers, all of his outrageous behaviour and shameless perversion, was a man Klaus found almost endearing.

It wasn't the right word, of course. It didn't matter for now. He had all night - he could do this as slowly as he needed to. "Endearing" would do for now. It was enough to know that he could not truly despise or even dislike Eroica, even if he did despise certain aspects of his habitual behaviour and life-style. *Numerous* aspects. Damn near every damned aspect -

"Klaus? You shouldn't frown, it'll give you wrinkles, you know."

"I don't understand you," the Major snapped.

Dorian blinked, very obviously taken aback. He never seemed to find the need to conceal, or even dampen, his overly emotional responses.

"You could just ask," the thief said at last, no trace of the light banter of his previous chit-chat left in his tone at all. Klaus approved of the sobriety, of course, but found the renewed intensity of the blue stare fixed on him as unsettling as ever. "I can't think of anything I wouldn't tell you about me if you asked. And if it makes you feel better, Klaus, I don't understand you very well, either."

Klaus snorted. "That much is obvious."

He reflected that he should probably put Eroica's offer of information to the test and ask after the things he had stolen and stashed away somewhere. Doubtless it would not accomplish the actual return of the property in question to the rightful owners - even if the man *did* tell the truth, he'd only have his employees relocate the booty before Klaus could do anything about it - but at least it would establish how serious Dorian was about this. This offer of information, that was.

Eroica was beginning to look faintly apprehensive when their dinner arrived, relieving Klaus of the need for an immediate decision. He would shelve the problem for later. Maybe he could have small teams of alphabets standing by in England near the likely locations before he actually asked Dorian where the man kept his unlawfully acquired collection.

But that was something to be considered later. For now, Klaus had other plans to carry out.

The food was excellent, as was only appropriate at these prices, but not unexpectedly, the veal medallions and cognac sauce stuck to Klaus' palate and refused to go down without considerable effort on his part. He managed half of one and some potato croquettes before giving up; Dorian was happily tucking into his ragout, though, so Klaus picked at his salad half-heartedly until he judged the other man was as good as finished.

"Have you ever been to Hamburg?" Klaus asked at random.

Dorian seemed wary and paused, the fork poised half-way to his mouth. "Yes, I have. Why?"

"I think it is a very beautiful city. Don't you?" Klaus knew he was bad at this and felt rather stupid, but forged on determinedly. "The freight harbour is very interesting."

"The freight harbour." Eroica's mouth twitched as though he were trying to hold back a smile. "I dare say it is. I haven't been there yet, but I will make a point of visiting it now."

"What did you see, then?" Klaus tried again, refusing to back down.

This time Dorian took the bait and began to talk again, describing the beauty of the Binnen Alster at length and digressing to enthuse about the excellent shopping opportunities afforded by the designer boutiques. He politely skirted the subject of art galleries and museums, Klaus noted.

And because it was impossible to delay any longer, Klaus steeled himself and inspected the Earl's slim hands as he waved them with graceful enthusiasm to illustrate a point, going on to devote equally careful scrutiny to the elegant throat, the quirk of an eyebrow and quick accompanying grin, the attractive features and extravagant curls. He proceeded to imagine those hands on his skin, imagined nuzzling that throat and kissing that mouth, and waited.

His stomach tightened at the realisation that he could not in all honesty claim that the mental images repelled him.

"Would you like dessert?" he asked abruptly, interrupting Dorian rather rudely but unable now to worry about the niceties he had been so determined to observe.

Eroica looked at him for a protracted moment before smiling and shaking his head. "Not today, I think, but do go ahead if you -"

"No." Klaus turned in the seat and imperiously summoned the waiter, who hurried up with commendable speed and brought the bill with equal dispatch.

Dorian trailed the Major closely as he walked out of the restaurant, but hesitated as they passed the parked Rolls.

"I will take you to your hotel," Klaus announced brusquely.

For some reason the statement seemed to bring back the hesitation the Major had noticed earlier in the evening back into Eroica's expression. He held the blue gaze levelly until the Earl nodded at last and then led the way to his own car.

The drive to the hotel was silent, but thankfully not long. Klaus circled around the back and found a conveniently near parking space in a side street. Dorian glanced at him uncertainly and did not immediately get out of the car. He did not smell quite as obtrusively of roses as he often did, Klaus noted. Apparently, Eroica had gone out of his way to be as inoffensive as was possible, being who he was. It was a radical departure from his usual conduct.

At point-blank distance, the not unpleasant flowery scent was complemented by the more natural, very faint scent of Dorian himself. His eyes looked more grey than blue, although that might have been the darkness more than the range, and his lips were warm. Beneath the coat and sweater, his shoulder was not particularly muscular, but unmistakably male.

Klaus was still not repelled. Nervous, yes, even apprehensive, but not repelled. He was not repelled even when the mouth beneath his opened and a tongue coaxed his own lips apart and slipped through.

It was not unpleasant to kiss Dorian. He hadn't been in the state of mind to pay much attention to it on the one previous occasion he'd done this, and now he found that it was not at all the way he had thought it would be. Of course, he would have been hard pressed to say what - if anything - he had expected; it was just that he had always found kissing distinctly disagreeable before. It was unhygienic and had no true function in the context of the sexual act, but now he almost thought that maybe, if he followed this line of inquiry further, he would find that it had some previously unsuspected advantages.

He pulled back and gathered his determination for the last step in the investigation.

"I trust your room is satisfactory?"

Dorian looked a bit dazed, but did not take him long at all to see the opening and seize it. "Oh, it is - very much so. Perhaps you would like to see it?"

He nodded curtly and got out. They used the back stairs and encountered no one on their way to the suite on the top floor which Eroica occupied; Klaus was not even capable of feeling relief at this moment, though.

Once he had gestured for Klaus to precede him into his rooms and closed the door, Dorian smiled too brightly and gestured towards the easy chairs grouped around a coffee table at one end of the suite's living room. He was talking again, his voice too cheerful just as his expression and gestures were too casual.

Klaus didn't bother to listen to him. Instead, he reached out and snagged the other man, pulling him in tightly against his body and burying a hand in his hair to tilt back the head.

Eroica melted into the Major's arms eagerly. His mouth was soft and welcoming and seemed familiar already, and if Klaus closed his eyes, he could almost have imagined that the person he was kissing was a woman. Except that there had always been some element of reluctance when kissing a woman, a reluctance that did not seem to be surfacing now - and, of course, that a woman wouldn't be pressing what was quickly turning into an erection against his leg.

First things first. Klaus pushed the intruding thoughts and memories firmly back into their drawer and concentrated on the kiss again. Dorian was once again claiming the initiative and the Major let him explore his mouth and nibble at his lip. He seemed to be quite experienced, which was no surprise, and yes, upon closer consideration there did seem to be a distinct element of enjoyment in kissing him. His taste was pleasant, and he smelled and felt exceedingly good from this close - almost - tempting. No… Alluring.

Hands were now roaming over his back and combing through his hair, and Klaus decided that he liked that, as well. He pushed Eroica up against a convenient wall and drew back a little to slip a hand under his sweater, encountering the slide of silk underneath cashmere.

A quick tug divested the other man of the sweater and the silk tunic-like garment underneath. The Major tossed them to the side and returned his attention to exploring Dorian's body. His built was slim, but muscular - built for limberness and endurance, not strength. Eroica trembled under his hands and gasped a little when he stroked down to the line of fair hair beginning low on his stomach.

"Klaus?"

"What," he said distractedly, working a hand down between the fabric and the heated skin.

He discovered that Dorian arched his back like a cat when he was touched in a certain way. It looked very… well, for lack of a better word - incensing. It encouraged Klaus to take further liberties, such as pressing the thief back against the wall and taking his mouth again while his hand dove further down, curling around the solid length of the other man's erection. He freed his other hand in order to unfasten the belt and pants and push the restraining fabric aside; the silk briefs yielded to a tug and he looked down to watch what he was doing to Dorian's cock and testicles. He experimented a bit and soon found a combination of stroking, fondling and gentle squeezing that produced the optimum effect.

"Oh goodness," gasped Eroica against his mouth. "Oh my *God*. Don't mind me if I pass out. Just keep *doing* that."

Evidently, Dorian enjoyed the sensations, and Klaus did, too. So far everything seemed rather unambiguous. It was time to take this to a more serious level.

He stepped back, causing an inarticulate sound of protest to break from the flushed and panting thief. Eroica grabbed for him and caught his head in a surprisingly steely grip, his lips and teeth and tongue eagerly devouring Klaus. He followed when the Major backed up another step, and suddenly it was Klaus who was pressed against a wall, a dishevelled and very obviously aroused Dorian alternately rubbing against him and tearing off his clothes.

Concentrating on the sensations sparked by the other man's hands and mouth on his skin made Klaus feel slightly dazed and the support at his back was not unwelcome. He leaned back against it, closing his eyes; when Dorian's hands slid between his thighs, he spread his legs obligingly to allow them easier access.

Eroica's touch was gentle, but sure and quite inflaming even through the fabric of his trousers. Klaus opened his eyes again and looked at the person who now had one hand fondling his genitals and the other sliding down the back of his boxers, and it made no difference to the feelings coursing through him that the person in question was male.

And even that was a lie, because Klaus knew very well that if he'd been with a woman, he wouldn't have wanted or allowed her to do anything like this - he'd never liked being touched this way. So far, his infrequent sexual encounters had been driven more by a vague sense of obligation than anything else; he had always found the act unsatisfying and, on occasion, even unpleasant. Sex had always seemed enormously overrated.

Unfortunately, the reason that now presented itself for this was not one the Major would have chosen, had he been given a choice.

"Do you have any idea how lovely you are like this?" The low, heated voice was unwelcome and distracting and Klaus growled, turning his head away. Amazingly enough, Eroica took the hint for once and shut up.

Or - perhaps more likely - it was simply that now, his mouth was otherwise occupied, steadily working its way down his body, detouring to tongue and bite his nipples. Nobody had done that before, and its effect was quite astonishing. It felt as though his body was lighting up from the inside, waking to a new way of experiencing sensation. Every inch of skin, every nerve ending was sensitised to a ridiculous degree, yearning to be touched. And somehow, Dorian always seemed to know just where to stroke and fondle in order to drive the restless ache higher, to make the electric pleasure bite deeper.

Klaus wasn't the most qualified to judge, but even so he was fairly certain that the flamboyant thief was every bit as great an expert at this as he was at picking locks and disarming alarm systems. It felt as though he was doing things with his tongue that should have been anatomically impossible. And his hands were everywhere, stroking the inside of his thighs, his genitals, his buttocks, gently stroking up behind his testicles…

"I have waited so long for this, and I want to make love to you so badly..." Dorian sighed and then laughed a little, but even though the sound was almost ridiculously light and giggly, there seemed to be an undertone of true anxiety there. "And now - Klaus, you have to tell me what you want because I don't know, I always thought I did but now - I only know what I want and -"

"I want you to fuck me."

Eroica froze. Huge blue eyes stared up at Klaus. "What?"

"You heard me." There was no use in doing things by halves. He wanted this experiment to be conclusive. He was through second-guessing himself.

Klaus bent down to take off his shoes and finish undressing, forcing the other man to scramble back a little. Strangely enough, Dorian looked hesitant, not at all like someone who thought the suggested course of action was entirely recommendable.

With a mental shrug, Klaus crossed over into the bedroom and sat on the large double-bed. He really couldn't be bothered to deal with Eroica's unexpected second thoughts at this time. He was more than occupied with beating down his own.

It didn't take Dorian that long to resolve whatever the problem had been and follow. Before Klaus had fully settled on the covers, the thief was in the room and hectically sorting through drawers, coming up with a small tube of what was obviously lubricant. Not quite as unprepared for this eventuality as he was pretending, was he?

Klaus smiled cynically and concentrated, focusing his mind on the objective of the moment and his body's state of arousal. As long as he didn't think, this wouldn't be any problem at all. No problem at all.

"Why don't we - Klaus, don't you think you'd rather -"

"No," he snapped. "Get on with it."

Dorian crouched in front of him, his hands petting and stroking Klaus' thighs almost as though he wasn't aware of doing it.

"All right," he whispered at last, leaning forward for another lingering kiss. Klaus laid back across the bed and the other man followed him down, covering his body with his own. A thigh eased between his and pressed against him intimately, causing sharp arcs of arousal to spike through the Major's body.

When he slid out from beneath the other man and started to turn over, Eroica's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "I want to see you, my love. You are so beautiful."

"Stop saying that," Klaus grumbled, sounding half-hearted to his own ears. Had he really begun to believe that, to Dorian, it was true? How peculiar. It was irrelevant, of course. It shouldn't make a difference.

There was a tense moment when Eroica pushed a slick finger inside of him, but Klaus directed a silent diatribe at himself for his cowardice and forced himself to relax as much as he could. It took every bit of concentration he could summon not to think about what he was doing, about what he was letting another man do to him, and for a long moment of almost-panic, he thought that he simply couldn't do this, that he was not strong enough to let this happen and not think, not fight off the touch -

He stared at the graceful, slender body poised above his own, at the smouldering blue eyes, the tousled mass of golden curls, the dazed and joyful look of lust in the man's - in *Dorian's* - face. Dorian. Eroica. Dorian. He repeated the name to himself like a mantra, concentrating.

And then, the most extraordinary burst of fiery pleasure exploded in him, coiling outwards from Dorian's invasive fingers like a spiral of annihilating sensation. He was vaguely aware that he was gasping for air, arching his hips off the bed.

"Say my name, Klaus," the man in bed with him coaxed hopefully, just as the second conflagration overtook him.

If Eroica wanted to hear it, there was no reason not to oblige him. It wasn't that difficult. Everything was different, and Klaus found that he could say the man's name without turning it into a threat or a curse. He could surrender himself to sensation, relaxing into another's touch and meeting another's desire with his own.

It truly wasn't that difficult, and he was good at not thinking during sex.

***

This was something Dorian never would have expected. Not that he hadn't occasionally allowed himself the odd fantasy… But not only had he gotten his love into bed, not only had the man taken the initiative, but he was actually demanding to be fucked! Dorian had hardly dared dream of this in case it destroyed the rest of the fantasy by being too high-flown, and he had not even in his wilder and more improbable scenarios imagined things happening this quickly - and certainly not now, after learning about -

But he didn't want to think about that now, not now, when his love was at last panting and dark-eyed with lust for him. Steep learning curve? Hah. The man was like a vertical take-off aircraft - if Dorian hadn't needed to touch and taste him so badly, he could have handily leaned back and left everything to his once so reluctant love.

To think that he'd imagined Klaus would be shy and hesitant at first. The man had had his hand down Dorian's pants so fast he could compete for the Olympic gold.

"This may hurt," Dorian rasped somewhat shakily, earning himself a disgusted 'get-a-bloody-move-on-you-moron' glare from his darling's wonderful green eyes.

Dorian positioned himself very carefully, hesitating for as long as he could possible get away with before beginning to push himself inside of his lover's body. He still wasn't sure he should be doing this. What if Klaus didn't like it? What if it brought back the wrong kind of memories and he decided that he never wanted to make love to Dorian again? What if -

Oh God. He felt so good - and the mere thought that this was Klaus at last, not one of a hundred interchangeable willing bodies but *Klaus*, his Major, his unique, irascible, beautiful love…

He caressed his lover's thighs and stomach with trembling hands, curling a hand around his flagging erection and stroking it back to full firmness while forcing himself not to move. The expression on his Major's face was inscrutable; he couldn't tell if he'd hurt him or not, but he wasn't about to take any risks. This was going to be as good for Klaus as he could possibly make it. He wanted him to keep coming back for more, more of this and more of every other way of making love that Dorian knew, and some he would learn especially for him.

"I love you, Major," he said softly and watched his love's eyes cloud over with an emotion he couldn't decipher. Not quite anger, but close.

Time to put this show on the road. He pulled back just a little and every muscle in Klaus' stomach tensed immediately, outlined against the skin in perfect rigidity. Oh God. How could anyone have a body like this and the face to match and not believe it when he was told he was beautiful? Even his stomach was beautiful - even his feet, and his knees, his elbows - every damn part of him, everything -

A small thrust and when he pulled back out again his love stayed far more relaxed. Dorian risked a longer stroke, and a longer one after that, and almost forgot everything else in the feeling of Klaus' body hot and tight around him, thrumming subtly with his lover's heartbeat, opening for him...

He had to let go of Klaus' cock and grip his hips with both hands as he settled into a steadily accelerating rhythm. There was barely enough thought left to lift and angle just *so* to bump against the hidden prostate - but when he did, Klaus gave a choked gasp and his perfect form lifted in a wave of motion as smooth and natural as a wave rolling to shore, a wave that drew his body upwards in an effortlessly graceful curve.

The sight finished off whatever hint of rationality Dorian might have had left. After that, all that he knew was heated skin beneath his hands, the inflaming sight of perfection sweat-slicked and panting in arousal, Klaus' body moving in delirious rhythm with his own, the boundaries between them no longer entirely clear. Small sounds of passion and need escaped him as he pounded into the body of the only man for whom he had ever felt quite this kind of desire, and when he finally fell into the blaze of excruciating completion with his lover's legs wrapped firmly around his middle and eyes burning in wild green fire staring back into his, he knew once again, but now with an entirely new and astonishing, marrow-deep chill of fear, that he was irrevocably lost.

He hadn't known it could feel like this to love someone. He hadn't known it could be so horrifying. He'd been in love so often that he had lost count, but he had never felt this. Why had he never known how terrible and frightening it could feel - why hadn't he realised what he was doing when he had fallen in love with the Major? He should have known that this was not a man he could easily and safely love, that this was a man who would suck him in and leave him bound and tangled and full of this exquisite passionate pain in his heart -

His searching hand found warm wetness on his lover's stomach and his heart burst with almost equal parts of joy and pain as he dove forward to take his darling's mouth in a deep kiss, making love to him with every stroke of the tongue.

He was afraid to stop kissing him. More than anything else he wanted to curl up with his love and fall asleep in his arms, but he knew that the chances of that happening were very slim indeed, and he was afraid to stop this kiss, afraid to withdraw from Klaus' body and clean them both off, afraid to do anything at all except draw out this last, fleeting moment of perfection for as long as he possibly could. Once this moment slipped through his fingers, anything could happen. And Dorian didn't want anything to happen, not now, not when he finally had everything he wanted within his grasp, in his bed warm and pliant and responsive beneath his hands and mouth -

When it came, the change was obvious in every line of Klaus' loosely sprawled body, in every fibre of his being, even in the taste of his mouth beneath Dorian's. Subtle, but inevitable and unstoppable as the storm gathering on the far horizon. Gathering momentum, drawing together… foreboding and threatening and even, somehow, darkly beautiful, because this, too, was Klaus.

Languid response turned to cool acceptance and then to impatient rejection as his love pushed Dorian back roughly, breaking the kiss and separating their bodies almost at the same time. If it hurt, he gave no sign, sitting up and pushing wildly tousled black hair back into some semblance of smoothness.

Dorian held his breath anxiously, but Klaus wasn't looking at him. His brow was furrowed and his mouth set in a grim line, but no explosion seemed imminent as he drew himself together to sit in an almost prim posture, drawing up a portion of coverlet to drape himself in.

A dawning smile at the so-characteristic action turned into a dismayed frown at the jarring realisation that Dorian's temperamental love had very probably had good reason to develop his heavy streak of prudishness. Dorian's stomach lurched briefly but he forced down the surge of nausea, watching his Major.

Minutes passed and Klaus didn't move, merely sitting up with his back as straight as an iron bar and his eyes straight ahead, expression locked into a strange kind of grim contemplation. It was, noted Dorian, an extremely military posture. It was quite an achievement to look severely, spit-and-polish military mere moments after being fucked, but Klaus pulled it off brilliantly. The man had faint bite marks on his neck and shoulders and even around the left nipple, his mouth was slightly swollen and his straight hair was tangled in the unmistakable way that announced someone had been burying their hands in it, and even so he managed to look as unapproachable and frosty as though sex was something that happened to other people.

Dorian winced at the unfortunate phrasing of his own thoughts. Perhaps he ought to say something, try to touch his Major... or maybe that would be exactly the wrong thing to do. Unfortunately, he had only a very vague idea of what might be going through the man's lovely but thick-skulled head right now, and any act that called attention to him could well turn out to be a rather bad idea.

Another minute or so dragged on and Dorian sighed, resigning himself to an outburst of temper or even a physical attack. It couldn't be worse than sitting here in silence and watching his Major stare into space with that severe line graven around his mouth.

"Klaus? My love? Is everything…"

He trailed off as his Major turned to fix him with a steely green glare that was uncannily reminiscent of a lamp being shined into the eyes of the prisoner interviewed at gunpoint.

"How did you know?"

Dorian blinked and ran a hand through his hair, posing automatically because he wasn't sure what was going on and didn't know what else to do. He hated feeling uncertain and insecure… Fortunately it happened very seldom. "Know what, darling?"

There was no immediate answer, but the glare continued as thin nostrils flared and Klaus' mouth twisted in distaste. "That I was - that I *am* - gay. Queer. A pervert like you."

Hmm. Was this a positive development or not? Dorian's heart wanted to leap with joy at the implication that further encounters of the intimate kind might not be out of the question in his Major's mind… but then, that look of disgust did not bode very well, did it…

"Well, actually, love, it didn't really happen like that," Dorian drawled, falling back on one of his stock patterns of behaviour in the attempt to cover up his uncertainty. He stretched a little and widened his eyes fetchingly. He refrained from fluttering his eyelashes, though. Somehow he didn't think Klaus would be able to appreciate it properly in his present mood. "All I knew was that I had to have you. I can't say that I cared whether you were gay or straight or something in between. It didn't seem to matter."

"As long as I slept with you." Flat voice. Cold look. Uh-oh.

Dorian tried a flirtatious smile. "Essentially, yes."

Derisive snort. "Interesting logic, Eroica. Sometimes I wonder how you managed to survive in your line of business for so long." Pause. "So… It was just a… *fortuitous* coincidence, then."

"No," Dorian protested hotly. "It was fate. What do artificial categories like homo- or bi- or heterosexual mean in the face of two souls that were destined for -"

"If you give me one more word of that drivel, I will hit you."

"Why are you always so violent? We just had wonderful sex and already you're insulting and threatening me again. This is what they call domestic violence, you know." Dorian knew he sounded petulant, but he couldn't help it. *Some* people made everything so bloody difficult!

There was a long pause.

"You," the Major said at last, "Are a felonious, unprincipled, wilful, thoughtless and utterly infantile pervert."

Dorian glared back indignantly. "And you are a brutish, arrogant, bossy and frigid bundle of denial!"

The silence stretched.

"Yes," Klaus said after what seemed like a very long time, sounding stiff and strangely formal. "I believe we are both correct."

Dorian let his head droop to the side, making his hair fall forward in a long golden curtain to obscure part of his face. He knew this was a very effective pose, and because he'd even added his best look of smouldering anger and hurt defiance, he was more than a little put out when his Major ignored the effort entirely and simply got up, drawing the entire feather blanket away with him and spilling Dorian onto his side.

"Fuck!" Dorian said when the bathroom door had closed firmly behind his complicated and completely blanket-swathed darling.

He felt like breaking something valuable, but settled for kicking the mattress. Fuck, fuck, *fuck*! He'd handled that incredibly badly. In his eagerness to score a point in a game, he had missed the glaringly obvious fact that of course his Major would never try to play this kind of game. Dorian hadn't meant what he'd said, and he didn't like to think that Klaus truly believed that what he'd called him adequately reflected who he was, perhaps with an addendum of something like "but he is punctual and efficient and extremely good at his job".

How depressing. Really, the poor man was incredibly fortunate that Dorian loved him. He could see that he had his work cut out for him...

And strangely enough, Dorian found his ever-buoyant mood swing upwards again at the thought of the challenge ahead of him as he turned to bury his face in a sheet carrying his lover's - his lover's! - subtle but inimitable scent.

They had a long way yet to go, he and his prickly and wounded love, but there was less doubt than ever in his heart that they would find a love together that was so beautiful all the world would pale before it.

And in the meantime, the sex was going to be great.

 

Epilogue

 

"Major Eberbach," the Chief said, drawing the title and name out as though testing their probable verity by taste. A disgusting habit.

"Chief," the Major shot back tersely. He forced himself not to fidget and lit himself a cigarette instead, ignoring the dark little scowl his superior gave him.

"That is a deplorable habit, you know," the man opined. "Poison for the lungs. In ten years you'll hardly be able to draw a breath."

"No doubt. Almost as bad as sugar and cholesterol, I hear."

The Chief, whose addiction to Milka chocolate was fabled throughout NATO headquarters, scowled, making his eyes withdraw deeper into the porcine folds of his face. "Pleasantries aside, Major. I trust you have followed my *recommendation* and arranged for the matter we spoke of?"

Klaus rolled his eyes. The Chief's so-called recommendation had been an entirely undisguised order, and he saw no reason for this ridiculous beating about the bush. "If you are inquiring whether I have had my men contact Eroica to employ his services for the assignment - as I was ordered - then the answer is yes. Although I still hold that -"

"Excellent. It is my hope that in time, even you may be brought to overcome your limited worldview and childish prejudices - and until you do, you will just have to cope. Might be a while yet. Good luck, then - and by the way, how is little Agent G doing these days?"

Pretending not to have heard the inquiry, Klaus stalked to the door. He suspected the old queer only asked after his darling little cross-dressing G in order to annoy him, anyway. Well, superiors weren't there to be liked. Klaus was certain that most, if not all members of his alphabet regarded him as the bane of their existence, almost more so than the enemies they were working to defeat. As long as they were efficient, that was perfectly all right with Klaus.

"A through F, P, Z, in my office," he barked as he swept through the open office space of the alphabet. They jumped to obey with alacrity.

Klaus hadn't seen Eroica again after leaving him stretched out on the disarrayed hotel bed in Eberbach; the thief had been wearing an odd little smile and Klaus had had to suppress the brief urge to cure him of his smugness, but had left quickly and without a word instead. In spite of what he had feared, Dorian hadn't appeared at the castle again in any of his guises and had already been gone when the Horrible Hedwiga had gone to call on him the next day. He must be on a tight schedule, Klaus supposed. So many museums to rob, so many priceless jewels to steal…

In the intervening weeks, Klaus had attempted to accustom himself to the thought that he was queer. He hadn't made too much progress; it still seemed like a terrible stroke of injustice to him. It was fine for people like Dorian, who had no principles in any case, but it wasn't fair that *he* should be saddled with this. It didn't fit into his plans at all.

Not that it was going to make all that big of a difference when you got right down to it. Klaus was going to marry eventually, and he was going to have children, or at the very least one child to carry on the line. That much had never been in question - it was simply his duty.

And he wasn't about to start sleeping with men. That was completely out of the question. The unfortunate fact that he was queer was one thing - he could live with the knowledge, he supposed. It didn't have to make a difference. He didn't have to think about it.

It would be quite another thing to actually act upon the knowledge, and not only did Klaus have no intention of doing so, but he had found, to his immense relief, that he also had absolutely no wish to do so. He'd monitored himself very carefully, and he had not felt as much as a pang of desire for any man he had come in contact with since he'd grown aware of his bothersome predilection. Eroica didn't count. He was a special case.

No, it really didn't have to make a difference at all. In fact, Klaus had completely forgotten about it for long stretches of time when he was working and had other things to think about. He'd never been much bothered by sexual urges - he supposed his libido was simply naturally low, which was very convenient. Nothing had to change.

Nothing much. Eroica... Well.

Klaus wasn't sure how this would affect his never exactly stable or harmonious working relationship with the flamboyant thief, but they were both professionals - of a sort, in Eroica's case - and he didn't doubt he could somehow bring Dorian to do what was expected of him. The constant innuendo and blatant overtures could hardly become any worse than they had been before. Or so he hoped.

And maybe, just maybe, if the Major could be certain that the other man understood what was being offered and, more importantly, what was not… Maybe it was not entirely out of the question to sleep with men every once in a while. With one man, at any rate. He'd have to wait and see and be very careful.

This assignment was definitely going to be… well. Interesting.


End file.
